


your partner is typing...

by isaacmclahey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, CW: Death, Derek Hale - Freeform, Erica Reyes - Freeform, Everyone Is Alive, Internet Friends AU, Kira Yukimura - Freeform, M/M, Oh also, TW: Homophobia, Vernon Boyd - Freeform, a lot of it, abandoned, allison argent - Freeform, background allydia - Freeform, background sterek, but theyre all kinda equal so ill put em down here, ch3 goes into isaacs past with his mom and brother so, cw: army, cw: cancer, everyone is human, everyone is ok and no one is a werewolf basically, internet friends!au, lydia martin - Freeform, mythical creatures, o wait, ok i'll shsh now, there are a few more characters, tw: abuse, tw: alcohol, tw: child abuse, tw: homophobic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacmclahey/pseuds/isaacmclahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>("I <i>am</i> part of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures.")</p><p>At first, Scott hadn't particularly wanted to join this 'super-cool-monster-slaying' website Stiles had suddenly become obsessed with, but apparently his best friend needed a healer on his team (a position which, as Scott later found out, involved very little actual medical knowledge). Truthfully, it seemed a good idea to start with, but the teenager soon realised that his assistance was minimal, and he had a lot more time to scroll through the forums and talk to new people than he originally thought.</p><p>And that was how he met Isaac. (Internet Friends!AU)</p><p>[sorry, highkey abandoned this, but won't delete it out of a. sentimentality and b. false hope i might add to it someday]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott still had another 46 minutes to kill until everyone on the team would be ready to play. Already, he'd sent messages off to five different people - Kira included - but all were in different timezones, and wouldn't receive them for another few hours.
> 
> After another ten minutes of mindless scrolling, a friend request popped up from TheOtherOne2. Curious, as he did not recognise the name, the teenager clicked on the profile, surprised to see that it was a little sparse. There was only a default icon and a few select words.
> 
> Isaac. 17. California. Beginner.

Aimlessly, Scott clicked around his computer screen, wondering whether Stiles would ever realise that Scott was indeed waiting at his beck and call, prepared for the signal that meant emergency aid was required, and Scott needed to go into the game and save the day.

It had been 47 minutes since their last interaction with him.

 _Selfish gits_ , Scott thought, half annoyed and half exasperated, and decided to publicly post that if his 'owners' didn't come and claim him in the next ten minutes, the he would be open for sale to a good home.

After ten minutes - and a lot of pointless tweets read - all he'd received was 3 likes on his status and one message from a friend he'd made earlier called Kira, who was promising a packet of Oreos in return for his services.

Scott McCall wasn't a liar; he was sorely tempted.

Instead of pouring out his lonely, left-for-57-minutes-alone woes, he responded to Kira in a cheerful tone, asking how she was and what her thoughts were on To Kill a Mockingbird (he'd just finished an essay on it for school), and whether she was a fan of Breaking Bad.

Truthfully, it occupied him for longer than he expected; she responded quicker than he thought she would. Interested, he responded with sympathy to the terrible chemistry pop quiz she'd received that day, agreed with her love for Boo Radley, and chatted quite happily with her for almost an hour about the adventures of Walter White.

But her company wasn't quite the same as Stiles'.

He decided to call it quits at 1:03am, and logged off.

\--

"Dude, where were you last night?" Stiles asked, as soon as they left homeroom the next morning, practically yelling it across the corridor in his impatience, "Erica got seriously hurt and we had to pull back and wait for her to recover - we needed you to treat her."

"I left at one in the morning, Stiles, I wasn't gonna stay up all night." There was a small snort from the other teen, and a low muttering, but not much else, "Wait, what time did you go to sleep? Aren't you tired?"

"I'm fine, I'm used to it. Look, man, you've got to say something if you're just gonna leave."

"I did - I messaged you, like, ten times, and you didn't reply."

"Oh. I, er, must have been in the game. It got kinda intense. Sorry, dude."

They walked in silence for a few seconds - or as silent as a high school corridor can be - before Stiles said something that threw Scott off completely.

"So, that Kira chick was on our quest, at the Hub. Said she knew you."

Stiles was giving Scott a look - no, not 'a' look, the look.

"Found something to distract you whilst we were busy now, did ya?"

Scott rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I talked to her whilst you were gone, and _no_ , not like that," He cut Stiles off before he could even open his mouth, causing the other teen's smirk to widen, "She offered me Oreos in exchange for my medical services, which I kindly declined - at that point, I still thought I was actually being useful."

The taller of the two at least had the decency to look a little guilty as they headed into Economics class.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry. I'll try and get you more involved tonight, okay?"

Resisting the urge to scoff, Scott simply nodded; no more was said on the subject until the end of the day.

\--

4:14pm

Scott still had another 46 minutes to kill until everyone on the team would be ready to play. Already, he'd sent messages off to five different people - Kira included - but all were in different timezones, and wouldn't receive them for another few hours.

After another ten minutes of mindless scrolling, a friend request popped up from TheOtherOne2. Curious, as he did not recognise the name, the teenager clicked on the profile, surprised to see that it was a little sparse. There was only a default icon and a few select words.

Isaac. 17. California. Beginner.

However, Isaac appeared to have a fair few friends - Stiles included, Scott noticed - and so he accepted the request.

And sent him a message, just for good measure.

Upon rereading, it was kind of dorky, but Scott hoped that it would be more endearing than freaky. (It had more or less worked so far).

Tapping his feet impatiently, Scott started moving around the room, kicking clothes into various piles and shuffling papers into brightly coloured folders, trying to feel productive without actually having to do anything.

22 minutes left.

Still no replies.

Sighing, Scott draped himself over the chair, waiting, painfully, for 5 'o' clock to roll around. 

This must be how Stiles felt everyday.

Inching, so slowly, five pm finally came, bringing with it a sense of excitement and uncertainty, so much so that Scott forgot all about his sent messages and his eagerness for responses.

Twenty minutes later, he was actively involved in hunting down a werewolf group that had tried to attack a nearby town. The group had split up into two teams so that they could find the Alpha of the pack faster, which would apparently weaken the whole group.

Scott and Erica were edging around a few buildings, but so far hadn't found anything more than a few dead bodies. 

"hey, do u kno theotherone2??" Scott dared to ask Erica as they buried the next family, his curiosity finally taking over. Isaac only appeared to have made 11 forum posts and a few statuses, and yet he was friends with quite a lot of the better players of the forums. He must be reasonably good at the game for that to happen, Scott thought, but perhaps not, maybe he was just a really nice guy.

"kinda." Was Erica's first response, as her character shovelled dirt on top of the final family member, "he's not online much, but he's a quite gd. y?"

"no reason rlly." Scott typed, quickly, but they'd finished burying the bodies now, and had to move on. "just wonderin."

Erica's character turned, as if to ask Scott a question, but thankfully, at that moment, a wolf lunged out of the side of the village, and both players were distracted for the rest of the evening, tied up with the attack.

Scott still thought about TheOtherOne2 though, all that night and most of the next morning, although he wasn't quite sure why.

At the time, he presumed it was curiosity.

Looking back, he realised it was something quite different.

\--

"I think I'm starting to get the hang of this game now."

The blue stretch of the lockers greeted Scott's eyes rather pleasantly that morning, despite the scratchy sensation in his eyelids and the slight pounding in his head that indicated a late night. He was a little bit high on the sensation, and was starting to understand how Stiles got so hooked on it.

"Scott, you've been playing for literally three days, calm down."

"But I really think I am!" The teenager couldn't help bouncing on the balls of his feet, his grin lighting up his face as he thought back to his successes, "Erica says I'm improving, and she wouldn't say that if she thought I wasn't."

Stiles just sighed and readjusted his backpack, grinning slightly but trying to hide it.

"That's how it always starts, dude. You get sucked in, and then you get screwed over."

"I'm sure I won't get in over my head."

"Ha, that's what they all s-ah-ah-"

Seemingly quite suddenly distracted, Stiles craned his neck back and let out a quiet, muffled whine, his eyebrows raised as he followed a particular student down the corridor.

The other teenager stifled an eye-roll as he pulled a Spanish textbook out of his locker and shut it, ignoring his best friend's odd behaviour. 

It must be Lydia Martin 'o' clock.

Of course, the redhead would be outraged if she heard herself being degraded to just an hour on a clock face.

"Dude," Scott tried, but failed, his exasperation thick in his voice, " _Stiles_."

"Hmm?"

The other teen didn't move, except for his eyes following the ginger glow down the corridor. Scott noticed that she was not alone - well, rarely was she alone - but she was with someone whose company she appeared to be genuinely enjoying; a girl with dark hair and a nervous smile who he'd never seen before.

"Stiles."

"Ye-argh?" Stiles eyes were still slightly widened as he turned his head, and his eyebrows were knotted together in an expression of slight desperation. 

"Who's the other girl?"

"Dunno. Maybe she's new."

"New?" Doubt crept into Scott's voice, "In the middle of the semester?"

"I'm only guessing."

"Hm."

As the two of them walked down the corridor towards their next class, the younger of the two entered a dreamlike state of mind as he reviewed his dose of Lydia that morning.

Of course, she'd never even acknowledged his presence, but that didn't stop him from watching her every time she walked past and hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might look at - or even speak to - him. Someday, it might actually happen. Someday.

As they walked into American History, Scott saw her again - the girl that walked with Lydia. It was just his luck that she looked up just as he was observing her, and he quickly ducked his eyes, missing her tentative smile as he did so.

After the teacher began to talk, Scott began to forget about the New Girl, but she didn't forget about him; sneaking looks from beginning to end, despite the fact that this appeared to be one of her first classes, and she should have been concentrating. Whilst this went unnoticed by Scott, it didn't get past his best friend, who - despite being a little envious - saw this as his ticket to Lydia.

"Oh. My. God. _Scott_!" Stiles hissed as he saw the brunette leave with his mini-crush, and barrelled towards the teen in question, who looked slightly bewildered, "She was watching you all lesson and you didn't notice. At. All."

"Wait, who?" Scott threw his books into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, a little confused but also intrigued.

"The girl you were talking about earlier - the one who's friends with Lydia. She was staring at you all through class. Like, _staring_. With her eyes."

To his credit, Scott didn't say anything about the 'eyes' thing, but he did dismiss Stiles' previous comment.

"I highly doubt that. Probably just looking at Greenberg."

"No, it was definitely you, man, I swear."

By now, they were almost at the end of the corridor and into the cafeteria, and Scott didn't want any overheard conversations to get out of hand and spread, even if they were pretty unpopular.

"Look, dude, can we just talk about our strategy for finding the Alpha tonight, please?"

"Fine, but this is not over."

"Yeah, yeah."

And so they came up with a foolproof battle plan, which, of course, three hours later, Erica blew off the table completely, despite the fact that Boyd and Miller were both totally up for it (they were still waiting for Sam to get home, who lived a timezone over, and had to get the bus back from school).

Whilst they hovered in the Hub, Scott left Erica and Stiles to bicker about battle tactics and began to check through his messages with a disheartened spirit; despite his previous streak of incoming messages, he'd hit a slow patch.

(Still no response from TheOtherOne2)

(He didn't know why it was bothering him so much)

5pm rolled around, and Scott had basically achieved nothing; it was the beginning of the end.

\--

In total, it only took Isaac 40 minutes to research all of his homework and make notes for his next French test, which gave him a good hour to mess about on the forums and maybe a quick quest, if he didn't hang about.

There was still that message from yesterday in his inbox, though, and it was starting to worry him immensely. 

How was he supposed to respond? Usually, people just messaged him to ask why he had so many friends (mainly because they were kinda jealous) and then threw a few insults at him (for the same reason). This guy actually wanted to know him.

Taking a deep breath, Isaac looked over his shoulder to check no-one was watching, before he began to type a response, but cringed and deleted it even before he finished his first sentence. After a few attempts, he gave up and just clicked on the guys profile again. Scott.

Even his name sounded just right. From just his recent status updates, Isaac could see he'd made a few acquaintances, despite only having been on the site for around a week, and apparently knew Stiles in real life; lucky bastard.

He also used a lot of emojis.

Uncertainty weighed on Isaac like a grey, static buzz that pushed on him from all sides. If he replied to Scott, there would be no turning back; Scott looked like the sort of person who wouldn't accept being ignored once they established friendship.

Then again, Isaac kinda needed all the friends he could get.

And so he set to work, copying and pasting sentences all over the place, leaving question marks after sentences he thought were particularly dorky and trying to limit his use of exclamation marks, for fear of sounding like a primary school teacher.

It took him an entire hour before he gave up again, picking up on the librarian's hints to go home after the nine millionth hard stare, and selecting the entire message and pressing backspace, not even waiting for the webpage to finish loading before he clicked off it and began to shut down all his open windows.

 _I will send him the message tomorrow,_ Isaac vowed to himself, trying not to think about what was waiting for him at the end of his bike journey home. _How bad could it be? His was pretty dorky, and it was kinda cute._

Taking a deep breath and rubbing his hands together to stop the cold from getting to him, Isaac unchained his bike and cycled home, taking no time to mess about. If his dad wasn't passed out, drunk, on the sofa and he was late, it would be a painful evening, and he probably wouldn't have much time to study for French.

However, when he finally got home, his dad was passed out on the sofa, bottle of beer in hand as he snored and grunted. Isaac set an alarm for 6pm, so his dad would have an hour to get ready for and drive to work for the night shift, and left the egg timer a few feet away from his sleeping parent before retreating to his room, trying hard to keep his footsteps silent.

He cursed himself a little for not having the courage to send Scott a message; he was just so sincere and kind and genuine. As a general rule, if you got to know someone on the internet, nine times out of 10, they were completely different in real life, but Isaac got the feeling that Scott wasn't like that.

That was probably the part that unnerved him.

After a bit of French study, Isaac threw himself into a Chemistry risk assessment report, knowing that he needed to do well on this homework to get the teacher to stop hating him as much as she did - it wasn't his fault he was so terrible, but she didn't appear to know that. (Also, his father was less likely to interrupt him if he was working, and therefore there would be less chance of angering him before he went to work and risking spending the night in the freezer).

When he heard the egg timer go off a good hour later, every muscle in his body tensed; blood pounded in his ears and his stomach filled with dread, seeping in his bones in a runny substance that caused a chill to freeze his spine. His brain cut off, refusing to concentrate on the work in front of him as his hyper-sensitive ears picked up on the sounds of stumbling and general preparation through his bedroom door, until, 20 agonising minutes later, his father left the house.

Every day, Isaac felt the weight lift from his chest as he heard the tyres-on-tarmac sound fade, and it was the best part of his evening; knowing his father wouldn't be home for almost 12 hours, and he could breathe again.

It only took an hour and a half to finish his chemistry report, which was quicker than he thought, but not as long as he had hoped. Without studying and homework, he had very little to do, since his father rarely bought Isaac things to amuse himself, and he tried to keep electricity bills at a low point, so that money wasn't wasted.

It just left him with very little to do.

Drafting his message to Scott would be kinda sad; studying French for longer than necessary was even sadder. Maybe reading.

Over the past few years, Isaac had gotten into reading obsessively, but tried to tone it down around his father, who thought the majority of education should be physical. Whilst he considered science and math important, all 'girly' subjects, such as english or art, were supposedly a tad useless, and Isaac shouldn't be seen getting himself too involved in them. On the whole, the teenager managed to stick to this rule, but did try to get good grades, for the sake of his grade point average and his records.

Rummaging through his backpack, the male pulled out 1984, by George Orwell, a battered, laminated copy from the school library, and began to read, allowing himself to fully relax, finally (or as close to 'fully relaxed' as he could generally get).

\--

At the same time, just over 100 miles away, Scott McCall was taking a break from the game, whilst Erica went to a hospital appointment.

Upon refreshing his forums account page, he realised he had received two new messages since he went into the game: one from Kira, and-

One from TheOtherOne2.

A little flutter took flight in Scott's chest, wriggling it's way into his heart and causing it to speed up astronomically, his easy grin back on his face, but he was unsure as to why the hell he was so excited for this.

Somehow, he managed to click on the message icon without too much difficulty, and began to scroll, eagerly, seeing his message wasn't just a two-liner that was the equivalent of 'leave me the fuck alone'.

However, when he opened it, his curiosity was overcome by confusion; whilst there were many sentences that made sense, there were also certain words that had been spelt with punctuation in them, or sentences that appeared to be cut off in the middle, with question marks after sentences that shouldn't have them, and an abundance of exclamation marks.

It was confusing, and Scott had to have 3 attempts at deciphering it before he got the general gist of the message, but even then he was a little uncertain, and even a tad disappointed.

Maybe TheOtherOne2 really was just another gamer; maybe he wasn't actually some mystery Scott could just 'solve'. It saddened Scott a little when he realised that that was the reason that he'd messaged Isaac in the first place - it was a really shitty reason to want to be someone's friend. 

He felt the shame rear its ugly head, but he pushed it down, refusing to allow it to taint him, instead swearing to himself that this would be the last time he did that, and that he would encourage a healthier friendship from then on.

Slowly, he typed out a response, trying to tactfully suggest that maybe Isaac had a virus on his computer, or that something had glitched, without sounding like a total asshole.

It took longer than he expected; long enough, even, that Erica came back from her appointment at the hospital and Scott still hadn't quite finished, and he even put off gameplay another few minutes so that he could spell check and read it over. 

(No-one was impressed, calling him a nuisance and a bugger to play with).

(Surprisingly enough, Scott didn't particularly care).

\--

The next day, Isaac managed to sneak out of the house whilst his dad was in the shower, making it surprisingly unharmed to the supposedly safe haven of 'school'.

He spent all day rehearsing what he was going to say to Scott in his mind, muttering phrases at times that he thought he might forget, causing the girl who was next to him in Biology to give him a strange look, but he ignored her. French class went the slowest, however, as all the way throughout the exam, Isaac couldn't stop thinking about his message, and he had a horrible feeling his end-of-term grade might suffer for it.

Somehow, he managed to make it to 3pm without forgetting the messages or having any questions asked, although he wasn't quite sure how; he suspected there might have been some kind of supernatural forces at work. When he finally got to the library, the computer was sat there, waiting for him as he approached, its hard plastic looking almost as tempting as he could handle. (He looked back on this moment with slight worry, but tried not to dwell on it, and instead attempted to write it off to nerves).

Sighing happily as he sat down, Isaac barely noticed the librarian's curious looks (slightly harsher than curious, but he wasn't to judge), so intent on sending his message that he was partially zoned out.

Impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk as the loading screen appeared, he felt on edge and anxious, despite the (definitely positive) excitement hovering in his chest. Now wasn't the time for doubt, but he felt it anyway, letting it creep into his body and take a hold on it.

_Just write the message._

So he opened the internet, typed in the address for the forums, and-

**1 NEW MESSAGE**

It was from Scott.

But Isaac hadn't sent back his message yet? Had Scott messaged him again to make sure he wasn't dead/ignoring him? It seemed a bit unorthodox, even for someone as enthusiastic as him.

Nerves set in, and Isaac began to shuffle in his seat, waiting impatiently for his screen to load.

However, when it did, he felt a cold dread seeping into his stomach, and Isaac had to refrain from groaning aloud. On the wrong side of the screen (his side), there was a jumbled message, filled with question marks and stupid phrases.

He had sent the message he had tried to draft the night before. 

A stream of curse words ran through Isaac's head, but he kept a lid on it, mainly because of the fear of getting kicked out of the library; that would be the worst case scenario, and Isaac doubted it would happen, but it was still possible. Whilst the librarian didn't technically have the right to exclude Isaac in the first place, it was clear he wanted to. Every night, Isaac was the only one that came here (with the exception of a few students who came, checked out a book, and left two minutes later) - without Isaac, the librarian could probably just pack up and go home.

So, it was probably best not to try his patience.

Biting his lip, possible scenarios ran through Isaac's head that he could plead; dodgy computer, friend beside him sent a goofed up version instead of the real one whilst he went away for some reason, a computer virus, wrong person...

Or he could just tell him the truth. With some exaggerated bits and maybe some tiny white lies peppered all the way through it. 

That story would probably be the easiest to stick to.

And so Isaac set to work, formulating an excuse that said he was doing multiple things at once, and must have sent the message by mistake and not realised, in between revising French and writing his Chemistry report. It was weak, and really quite unbelievable, but he doubted that Scott would question him - he seemed too nice to do something as direct as that.

Probably.

When the librarian started up his glaring routine about quarter past four, Isaac ignored him. Normally, he would do whatever it took to stop the glares - he didn't like the idea of displeasing anyone - but this time he didn't give in, and instead focused even harder on his reply, his typing echoing in the quiet room, the books on the shelves absorbing the sound, but still letting the harsh clicks rattle from the elderly keyboard.

His reply was classy and composed, and neatly apologised for the mishap, surprising even Isaac with his calm reply. However, it took some serious drafting and re-drafting, and by the end of it, Isaac was kind of exhausted.

At five minutes to five, a small, pointed cough came from the desk in the corner, and the teenager had to refrain from turning and yelling at the librarian; _do you think I can't tell the time or something?_

Taking a deep breath, Isaac clicked the send button, and tried not to panic; the worst that could happen is that Scott didn't like him, and didn't bother replying, or maybe Scott turned out to be just like everyone else - wondering why the hell he had so many 'cool' friends on his account, and then being disappointed when he himself wasn't the same level of 'cool'.

Then, he closed all his tabs and pushed himself away from the computer slightly as it logged itself off: he didn't want to try to send anymore messages or want to change anything he'd written, and completely cutting himself off from it might lessen that slightly.

Or so he hoped, anyway.

That evening, he threw himself into his book in an attempt to reach the end, but his father got home from work around the same time he got back from school, and Isaac didn't quite have time to tidy away the dishes he'd left in the sink the previous night, and his dad almost blew up at him over dinner.

Fortunately, he managed to keep it mostly under control, and instead spat out a list of chores he wanted Isaac to do that evening before bed, before civilly asking how his day was, and whether he had any exams coming up. 

This abrupt change in tone put Isaac on edge, but he managed to get through the conversation reasonably easily (to his surprise), and put it down to his father being semi-distracted throughout the whole thing. It was a little selfish, but Isaac hoped he would remain that way, no matter what was causing it; it was a nice break.

"I just don't want another fucked-over son with shit grades in the ground, you hear me?" His father scraped his plate and threw his knife and fork down, leaning forward in his seat a little, his tone scarily calm as he began to pile up the dishes on the table, "You're all I've got left, and if you fuck it up, I'll put you next to him myself."

Swallowing, Isaac nodded, and then responded with a "Yes, Dad" when prompted. Usually, the death threats only came when his father was drunk out of his mind, but this time he was scarily sober.

Isaac hoped that this was just a one off.

Just before he slept that night, he couldn't help but think of Scott, and the lovely, friendly persona he'd managed to build up around himself; his status updates were always so cheerful, and he seemed to genuinely care about every reply that he got in any forums posts he made.

That kindness and sincerity was something that Isaac craved, and he hoped he hadn't done something really stupid when he replied to Scott; he hoped it was the start of something more - something bigger; something _better_ than what little he already had, and it was that hope that sparked something that neither participant had even imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh so this is kind of going to be my summer project, and i'm super excited to write it!!!! hope you all like it - please leave feedback!!!! (yes i type like a primary school teacher outside of fanfic no i do not wish to change it) (also im sorry the first couple of chapters are a bit slow bcs i wrote the later chapters first and kinda worked backwards so these ones are a bit awkward and wooden and im sorry but it gets more exciting i promise!!!!!!)  
> also i'm very sorry if things sound a bit weird bcs i am painfully british and so i often forget to switch things like car park and parking lot or toilet and restroom or whatever idk yh im sorry if it sounds strange blame the englishness within me!! (in a different fic i put that one of the characters 'flicked the kettle on' and there were quite a few sniggering americans oops)


	2. first friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Within ten minutes, Scott had smashed out a reply to Isaac, allowing the others to start the game without him, and was buzzing with the possibility of a new friendship.
> 
> When he had scrolled down Isaac's profile far enough and got to the bottom of the status updates, he realised something about Isaac that not many other people appeared to have picked up on; the account wasn't originally his.
> 
> Maybe he had solved the mystery of TheOtherOne2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick note (and sorry for it being late i'm not very good at writing slow chapters (I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM) -- an alternative title for this fanfic is "the first-", and then the chapter titles are their different 'firsts' (e.g. this one is "the first friend" and the previous one was "the first message"). at the time, it was a toss-up between the two, but i decided YPIT was a better summary of the story. idk in case u were interested (thats what all the chapter titles are going to be based on, so ^_^). there u go :))

Within ten minutes, Scott had smashed out a reply to Isaac, allowing the others to start the game without him, and was buzzing with the possibility of a new friendship.

When he had scrolled down Isaac's profile far enough and got to the bottom of the status updates, he realised something about Isaac that not many other people appeared to have picked up on; the account wasn't originally his.

At the bottom, there was a confused status asking what the point of the forums was, and someone had replied with 'camden will u stop being such a noob and just get on the game'. After quick inspection, Scott had picked up that the regular, misspelt updates had stopped about five years ago, and were replaced about three years ago with carefully worded, nervous ones, which were usually to ask questions about how to get onto certain aspects of the game. Scott could only presume that there had been a switchover at some point, but he was a little hesitant to ask.

Maybe he'd solved the mystery of TheOtherOne2.

On a different note, Isaac seemed perfectly lovely and friendly. His reply had shown an only semi-plausible excuse for his patched-up response, but Scott didn't really want to question it; the rest of his message was so enthusiastic that it felt a little mean to push any further with the messed up message. Anyway, Scott couldn't think of any other reason in particular to replace it, so he decided to let it slide (although realistically he probably wouldn't have said anything anyway, even if it was totally unbelievable).

He looked like he could be a nice person, but at the same time, not quite who he seemed; the internet is a good place to cover yourself up, hide the bad bits of you and only show the good, and millions of people were a part of, and encouraged, that. Whilst it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Scott only hoped that Isaac would grow to trust him enough to show him the sides of him that he didn't particularly like, and the parts of him that he was a little ashamed of. It was ambitious, but Scott felt like this friendship was different to any he'd really felt before, which was a little strange, but also exhilarating.

Their messages continued, slowly but surely, sending one to each other most days. Whilst this tentative friendship advanced, so did Scott's involvement in the game.

It was a little bit of an adventure, trying out all these new battle moves and tactics and healing potions, and Scott was starting to get heavily invested in it, his happiness in the real world dramatically relying on his happiness in the virtual one. This affected his classwork more than it did his social life (which consisted mainly of Stiles anyway), and his mother was starting to get a little concerned; she knew that the online game wasn’t the worst thing her son could be addicted to (her shifts at the hospital had at least taught her that much), but she still hoped that it might be a bit more social than he was letting on.

What she didn’t know was how her son had started to message another game member constantly, keeping up with what he was doing 24/7, and getting heavily invested in his life, as well as the game.

What she also didn’t know was that this other boy was more addicting to Scott than any game ever could be.

It would either be the ruin or the making of him, and, at this stage, not even the Gods above knew which.

\---

"Wait, you aren't coming in with me?"

It was just past 3pm on a Tuesday, and the teenagers were split between being in and out of the blue jeep, with Scott having just jumped out, and Stiles refusing to follow him. Shadowing the sun on their right was the town library, a dark place that neither had stepped foot in before (they'd always had the internet on their side).

The expression on Stiles' face was hopeful at the sight of Scott’s confused features, but slightly nervous, and Scott kinda wanted to frame it; he'd never seen this expression on Stiles' features before.

"Er, my dad kinda wants me down at the station."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Have you got the name of the book?"

"Yes," Scott frowned a little, "But I still don't see why you can't just-"

"It'll take you two minutes, Scott, I promise."

"Then come in with me."

Suddenly, the large eyes on Scott's face sprung into puppy-eye mode, and they looked up at Stiles in such a pleading manner that Stiles started to reconsider, opening his mouth, almost-

"Scott, we've said no puppy-eyes." He looked slightly wounded that Scott tried it on him, but shook it off almost instantly, "Look, I need to go, but I'll see you on the game at five, right?"

"Fine." Scott relented, unable to be even slightly mad at someone for more than three seconds, "See you later."

Slightly apprehensively, Scott turned away from the car and turned to look at the monstrous building behind him, barely even registering the sound of the jeep driving off; Beacon Hills Library.

This was _so_ not where he wanted to be at 3:10 on a Tuesday afternoon. Anywhere, _anywhere_ but here. Even lacrosse practice.

Okay, maybe not lacrosse practice.

As slowly as he possibly could (perhaps a slight exaggeration), Scott forced himself up the front steps and in through the double doors, squinting slightly as he did so, unsure of what he might find on the other side.

The library was dusky, and kind of dark, except for a few windows up on the higher balcony and a main one behind the reception desk. Scott blinked, and coughed, his eyes trying to adjust desperately to the lower light levels. Through the sudden gloom, he could see the stacks of books, separated so neatly into their different sections, each aisle having a number carefully printed on the end, the spines of the books almost grinning, winking at him in the questionable light.

A moments observation led Scott to decide it was probably best not to breathe too deeply, just in case he inhaled too much of the book dust (it was apparently everywhere), which might break his lungs out of its sheer volume.

After he noticed the shelves upon shelves of books, he saw the tables spread carefully at the ends of the aisles for people to work on, and he couldn't help but think it might be a nice place to work, despite the semi-gloomy atmosphere and stillness.

However, he dragged himself out of his minor stupor, and started towards the main desk, where a librarian was sat at a computer and attempting to hide a smirk as he stared at his screen (Scott decided that he probably wasn't doing much work, and it was therefore probably okay to bother him).

"Um, excuse me?" He half-whispered as he reached the desk, suddenly very conscious of the noise level (it was practically none-existent).

"Mm?" The guy turned his head, displaying an array of ear piercings and a lip ring, causing Scott to intake a silent breath of surprise; piercings always kind of freaked him out.

"I'm, er, looking for a book, how do I find out where it is?"

"Oh." The guy straightened in his chair a little and changed tabs on the computer, "Yeah, sorry about that, we normally have another machine on the corner where you come in, but it's out of service at the moment. I can do it for you from here though - what's the title?"

"Er," Scott dragged the bit of paper out of his pocket, unfolding it hastily, "It's: A close analysis of wolves and their packs."

"Okey-doke, two secs."

A mass of harsh typing sounds hit Scott's ear, and he took the time to have a quick look around the library, his curiosity begging to see who else was in there.

From where he was standing, he could only see four other people on the lower section, but there was a balcony up a set of stairs that led to another level, which he couldn't quite see over. The four that were sitting at the various tables consisted of two middle-schoolers, bent over something that had glitter and bubble-writing on it; a middle-aged woman with a stack of books about self-defence piled up next to her and one elderly man, who appeared to be alternating between pacing the aisles and throwing (seemingly random) books onto a nearby table.

An altogether fairly unremarkable collection of people.

"Got it." The Desk Guy said, finally, and pulled a sticky note off the side of the desk and scribbled something down, "Aisle 18, which is up at the top there, third shelf in, and the authors surname is Mills, so it'll be under M."

"Thank you." Scott replied, trying to make it sound sincere, "It's like a maze in here."

Desk Guy chuckled.

"I guess it kinda is. Well, it was no problem - good luck finding your book."

"Thanks." Scott said, again, but this time he began to move as he said it, cutting off any other attempts at conversation, and moved towards the staircase, still a little in fear of the sheer size of the place.

When he finally got up the stairs, he wandered along until he found Aisle 18, right at the very end. Just as he turned the corner, however, he spotted someone sat at one of the tables at the other end of the aisle, and almost stepped back again, although somehow he forced himself not to.

It was the new girl - Allison.

Her head was at least bent over something, so she didn't see Scott's cringe-y reaction to her presence, but it wouldn't be long before she noticed him, so Scott would have to move quick if he wanted to avoid a conversation.

It wasn't that she wasn't a nice person - Scott was sure that she probably was - she just made him uncomfortable, and he just started talking nonsense whenever she was nearby (it was safer to stay out of sight).

Slowly, he made his way to the 3rd shelf, trying extremely hard to avoid meeting her eye. Somehow, he made it, his fingers shaking a little from the concentration.

It wasn't just because it was a girl (despite his low popularity, talking to girls wasn't usually a problem for Scott) - it was because she was one of the most attractive girls Scott had ever seen, and she looked like she could string up anyone who hurt her in under a minute, and bake some chocolate-chip cookies at the same time. Another factor was the main one; that apparently, she was potentially mildly interested in him (and this evidence didn't just come from Stiles - Lydia Martin had supposedly said something about it to the guy that sat behind him in American History, to name just one other incident). It was a kind of pressure that Scott wasn't used to handling.

He just had to get the book and leave.

Or... Maybe he could give it a go?

No, he'd mess it up, he knew he would; he'd never been good at flirting. He was terrible, actually. It would be beyond embarrassing.

So he had to go, and he had to go _fast_ , just in case.

Finally, after many torturous moments of sweating and panicked scanning of shelves, Scott finally found it, pulling it out and flicking through, trying to find the parts that Stiles wanted. After a moment of scanning, however, Scott realised that this wasn't a quick photograph-and-leave situation, and he would probably have to check the entire book out.

"Scott?" A quiet voice questioned, sounding much louder in the still air.

Scott was a little bit ashamed to say that he jumped in surprise.

"You scared the life out of me." He half-whispered, clutching his heart for dramatic effect, but grinning (albeit nervously, and probably a little creepily).

"Sorry," She grinned back, with only a touch of sincerity in her tone – the rest: sarcasm. She was twisted in her seat so that she was facing him, her work abandoned in front of her, "What brings you here?"

"Uh," Scott had to think fast, which wasn't something he was very good at, "B-Biology project."

He wasn't telling possibly his only chance of a relationship that he was researching traits of a half mythological creature for an online game - even he knew that that was too far. He tried to cover the title of the book with his arm.

"Oh, really? I don't remember getting a biology project on wolves."

She had him cornered, and she knew it, judging by the badly concealed grin on her face and the knowing look in her eye.

Sighing, Scott moved towards the polished table and put the (rather large) book down, wincing at the heavy echo it produced, and half threw himself into the chair opposite her, a sudden tiredness overwhelming him after the mini adrenaline supply her original shock had caused him. In an attempt to take in more than just what she was saying to him, he tried to subtly check out her appearance; her hair was all over the place, but it looked deliberate, almost like a fashion; her eye make-up was a little smudged at the corners, but her skin looked as flawless as usual and her outfit consisted of a dress, tights, and a jumper with - what looked like - a stag on it. Scott didn't know much about fashion, but he figured it looked pretty good.

"Fine. It's not a biology project. But- I can't tell you what it's actually for."

"Because... Then you'd have to kill me?" She was still grinning, to Scott's surprise, and was completely ignoring the fluttering of her papers and the rainbow highlighters that were scattered at strange intervals across the pages on the table. The male could only presume that she'd been studying.

" _Because_ …” He mimicked, “Then you would never speak to me again, as my reason is so pathetic."

A slight pout made its way onto Allison’s face, and it didn't go unnoticed.

"Well, now I'm extremely intrigued."

“My apologies,” He smiles, “Maybe some other day.”

Squares of sunshine were lazily cast along the floor to their left, not quite reaching the table, illuminating the table without directly lighting it; a perfect balance, unlike some of the other tables along the row. Allison must have been before, and probably knew which ones were the best for that time of day, which was a slightly eerie thought.

Before quiet could settle on them for too long, Scott decided to try and save himself, by asking her the same question that she asked him.

“So, what brings you here then?”

“Studying with Lydia,” She sighed, “She’s just gone to try and sneak in some coffee, which, let’s face it, she’ll probably manage. She’s supposed to be helping me with Economics.”

“Ugh, Econ.,” Scott pulled a face, and she nodded along understandingly, “I don’t know why it’s such a popular subject.”

"It's a mystery." Allison smiled, and picked up the nearest highlighter, and began to highlight seemingly random phrases on the page closest to her; Scott took that as his cue to leave.

“Well, I better get going.” He stood up, quickly, trying not to wince when his backpack smacked him hard on the back when he swung it onto his shoulder, “I’ll see you at school.”

“Oh,” She looked a little surprised that he was leaving, but he dismissed it, “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Before Scott could do anything stupid, like saying ‘Bye, love you!’ like he had done in a similar situation with a girl a couple of years ago, he forced himself to walk down aisle 18 and along the balcony, trying to steady himself a little as he did so.

_Stiles is so dead._

But then, upon reflection, maybe Stiles wasn’t ‘so dead’. Perhaps Stiles was to be thanked, perhaps-

Perhaps Stiles knew about this all along.

It would be just the sort of thing he’d do, Scott decided, as he approached the main desk for the second time that afternoon, He’ll have overheard something and decided that this was the best way to force him and Allison together.

This subject weighed on his mind even more the longer he thought about it, even throughout the painful process of getting a library card and going through all his personal details, just to check out one book, which Stiles apparently couldn’t find ‘anywhere else’, and was then conveniently needed down at the station.

_Sneaky motherf-_

“All done.” Desk Guy said, smiling, handing Scott his new library card and his book, “Bring it back within the next six weeks, and you won’t get any fines.”

“Um, thanks.” Scott tried to shove the book in his backpack, and then slung it over his shoulder again, “Have a nice day.”

“You too!” He replied, cheerfully, his twitter tab already open again on his screen, as the teenager walked away, and Scott wondered how many people actually came to talk to the librarian at the front desk, what with the machines that can apparently check books in and out for the public without any social interaction needed.

Silently, he agreed with himself to at least try to talk to the person on the front desk every time he came in here, if he ever did again (except to return his original book, of course). Whilst the quiet atmosphere had to be good for studying, Scott couldn't imagine what it'd be like to work in all day, every day.

As he jogged down the front steps and started forward in the direction of home, his mind wandered to Isaac; he'd had a Chemistry test today that he had been seriously dreading, and Scott couldn't help but hope it had gone well - his teacher sounded a little biased against him anyway, although Isaac didn't elaborate on why she was.

Just after he crossed the road, he spotted a long-haired redhead walking up the library steps with two Starbucks coffee cups in hand, radiating confidence; the only way someone would stop Lydia taking those coffees into the library would be if they had a legitimate death wish.

Getting home only took fifteen minutes, but by now it was almost 4pm - signing up for a library card had taken up much more time than he'd anticipated, and he was running out of time until Isaac's message would come in; on schooldays, he liked responding to it right away, in the hope that Isaac might reply again, and they could talk more and more, but Isaac usually left it until the very last minute to send it (apparently the school library kicked him out at five). Why, Scott didn't want to ask, in case it was a strange excuse (like the last one), or in case it made Isaac too uncomfortable.

That was the last thing he wanted.

In the rush to get back to his computer, Scott almost forgot to text Stiles to say he had the book, but he remembered just as he turned the corner to his road, pulling his phone out of his pocket in one smooth motion, and tapping out the words.

**Scott 3:57**  
 **i got the book. u knew allison was**  
 **gonna b there, didnt u?**

This was accompanied by an emoji of the slightly disgruntled face, although it wasn't technically pissed. Scott hoped that this would keep Stiles guessing as to how Scott felt about the interaction, just in case he felt the need to apologise.

Turns out, he did not.

Just as Scott fumbled in his pocket for his key, there was a buzz, and Scott had to redirect his search, blinking slightly at the screen when he finally found his phone again.

**Stiles 4:01**  
 **You’re welcome.**

That was not what Scott was expecting.

Even before he crossed the threshold of the house, he had his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, patiently waiting for the calling drone to finish as he quickly read the note left by his mother on the hallway mirror and throw his backpack down on the floor. Before he got to the kitchen, however, Stiles had picked up, and he sounded almost as smug as Scott could bear.

“Had some fun, did you?”

“You asshole.” Scott responded with, instantly, attempting to make a sandwich one-handed and failing. “You could have just told me.”

“Ah, but Scotty - that would have been just no fun.”

“I’m never trusting you again.” He declared aloud, although both parties knew he was outright lying. “I was so close to fucking it up.”

“...But you didn’t?” Stiles sounded strangely hopeful, although it was probably just glee at the fact his plan had semi worked, “It went okay?”

“Yes, it went fine. I didn’t embarrass the crap out of myself, and she didn’t tell me to go away.”

“Dude, that’s like a ten out of ten success?”

“I guess.” The sandwich was semi-successfully made, and Scott decided to just take it as it was, in fear of creating more mess or ruining the partially acceptable plate in front of him.

“What do you mean, ‘I guess’?”

“I mean, ‘I guess’.” He sighed, and walked back into the hallway, dragging his bag up the stairs when he finally reached it, heading in the general direction of his room, “It wasn’t like, amazing. It wasn’t... We weren't _flirting_.”

“Yes, you were!” Stiles almost yelled down the phone, but then cleared his throat, perhaps sensing the volume of his voice, and toned it down, “I'm, er, sure you were. I bet you just didn’t notice.”

“I really don’t think so.” Biting his lip, Scott shuffled into his desk seat, and began to stab at his keyboard with one finger, typing out his username and password exceptionally slowly, “There wasn’t anything exciting there.”

“Liar.” Stiles muttered from the other end of the line, stubbornly, and then sighed deeply, as if this notion was troubling.

“Why are you so bothered about it, anyway?” Curious, Scott paused from his current activities on the computer, allowing it time to load as he leant back in his chair and questioned his best friend.

“No reason.” He replied, immediately, which instantly set off alarms in Scott’s head, “Can’t a guy just want his best friend to be happy? God.”

“If this is some plan you’ve come up with-”

“Nope, no plan,” Stiles insisted, and then made a surprised noise, although apparently not at Scott, “I- ahh, erm, can I catch up with you later, man?”

“Sure.” Now Scott was incredibly suspicious, and he was one step short of getting up and going over to Stiles’ house to question him on his strange behaviour, where he could avoid nothing with his quick words, “I’ll see you on the game at five though, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”

“By-”

The end tone hit his ear before Scott had even finished his word, and he had to refrain from recoiling slightly at the rudeness; he’d known Stiles for almost 15 years, and he knew of his friend’s unintentional rudeness that had popped up on many occasions, but this was something a bit off, even for him.

Something was going on, but right now, he had to check his messages.

Warmth flooded his chest when he saw the little “1 MESSAGE” icon, and he tried to fight back a grin, excitedly clicking on the message feed, and scrolling through the messages that slowly increased in size, until they began to break into paragraphs.

The feeling growing in his bones was euphoria, and he couldn’t quite reign it in; talking to Isaac always made him feel so much better about everything, and it was so interesting to talk to someone other than Stiles every once in a while, to see someone else’s opinion on something he’d never seen a different side to before: it was fascinating.

Scott couldn’t help but love it.

\---

The anniversary of Camden’s death date was three days away.

It was driving Isaac insane. Every year, his father would go on a strange ‘sober week’ streak, and then blow it all on the actual day [which he would take off from work, if it was a weekday], usually passing out before two pm in the afternoon from the sheer excess of alcohol.

During this ‘sober week’, he would also pay crazy close attention to Isaac and his grades, picking up on any little thing he did wrong and making him pay for it.

As much as Isaac wanted to commemorate and appreciate Camden’s death, he didn’t want it to happen like this, so he began to shut himself in his room constantly, under the impression of studying, and only coming out for mealtimes, and to do any other chores his dad explicitly asked him to do.

Messages to Scott were one of his only hanging lifelines in that time, and he clung to them like a child to it’s mother; his little shots of sunshine made Isaac smile, even when he least expected them to, or when he needed them most.

And in the coming week, that was going to more often than not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to bother u but can any of u think of any suggestions for scott's username?? i seriously can't think of anything and it's kinda relevant in the upcoming chapters so any thoughts on it would be very welcome!!!!


	3. first absense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stiles, I think something’s up with Isaac.”
> 
> “Mm.”
> 
> They were sat in the school library during a free period, Stiles writing sporadically and chewing the end of his pen, a book propped up in front of him, and Scott slumped over his half-essay, tapping his fingers on the desk. It was slightly too cold in there, and the brightness was a little harsh on their tired eyes, but they powered on through, determined to finish the Economics essay by the end of the period, so that they had maximum game time in the evening.
> 
> It wasn’t going particularly well. For either of them.

His correspondence with Isaac grew and grew, and soon they were sending each other a message almost everyday; Isaac would reply in the evening before five, and Scott would reply during a pause in gameplay during the later evening.

Both people in the friendship were surprised to learn that they were in the same timezone, and - better yet - only a few hours apart. They hadn't googled exactly (because that would be a bit creepy), but they'd both said the nearest cities, and had found them to be fairly close. Because of this, Scott was a little confused about why Isaac only replied during certain hours (usually straight after school); maybe he had limited wifi or something.

The extent to which he thought about Isaac was a little excessive, and soon Scott began to worry a little about the slight obsession he appeared to have obtained. When he spoke to Stiles about it, the other teenager shook his head and said, in an apologetic tone:

"If you get attached that fast, it probably isn't going to last that long, man."

Stubbornly, Scott had instantly insisted that it _would too_ last, but then dissolved into worries, asking Stiles over and over whether he thought it would work anyway, or whether he should just give up on the friendship now and save them both the trouble.

Eventually, Stiles took everything back, and reassured Scott into silence, trying to clear up the mess he had made, and finally succeeding. From that point, Scott would think about Stiles' words constantly, checking things off in his head that each of them had said that might hint at the growth/shrink in their relationship.

This paranoia and obsession faded away after a couple of weeks, but it didn't leave without it's scars; Scott was still concerned that he was about to scare Isaac away, or they would hit a dry patch, and would just stay there. Whilst it didn't affect their friendship noticeably, there were definitely a few things that Scott said that he wouldn't have if Stiles hadn't said something.

Another month passed with constant talking and messaging, as did school. A few exams came and went, and, overall, Scott felt he did well; when he relayed this to his mom after his final exam, she whooped, and insisted they order some kind of takeaway meal that evening to celebrate. Grinning, Scott agreed, and gave her his order to call through, before quickly running upstairs to check his messages, insisting he'd be back down by the time the food arrived.

But, to his surprise, there was no message waiting for him in his inbox when he refreshed his page. He tried again, scrolling back through their essay-length messages in the hope that maybe another one would just pop up, but no such luck; he even turned the wifi on his computer on and off again, in case there was something in that, but it appeared to be working fine.

He's probably just busy. Scott told himself, reminding him about all the exams they had both had that week, Maybe he's just taking a break.

And that was the story he stuck with, despite the weight he felt in his stomach as he hopped back down the stairs, ready to celebrate the end of his winter exams with his mother, watching some crappy tv show they'd both grown to love.

He'll reply tomorrow.

\--

It had been four days since Scott had last spoken to Isaac.

Despite their casual friendship and their one-message-a-night system, it had somehow gotten to the stage where Scott missed Isaac when he replied; it had only happened once before, and it turned out that Isaac had a massive chemistry exam the next day, and had spent all of his time cramming for it, which was understandable.

But this time, it had been four days, and Scott had checked through their previous messages, and couldn't see any plausible excuse or a suggested reason as to why Isaac hadn't replied. From what Scott had inferred, he realised that Isaac didn't have a very good home life, as he strongly preferred not to talk about it.

Unease grew and grew until Scott gave in, sending Isaac another message to ask if he was alright, unsure as to what he should do in this sort of situation.

He didn't get one back.

\--

"Stiles, I think something’s up with Isaac.”

“Mm.”

They were sat in the school library during a free period, Stiles writing sporadically and chewing the end of his pen, a book propped up in front of him, and Scott slumped over his half-essay, tapping his fingers on the desk. It was slightly too cold in there, and the brightness was a little harsh on their tired eyes, but they powered on through, determined to finish the Economics essay by the end of the period, so that they had maximum game time in the evening.

It wasn’t going particularly well. For either of them.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“I’m serious.” Scott shuffled his chin off his open textbook and up onto his hand, where he leant on it heavily. “Something’s not right.”

“Maybe his wifi broke.” It was clear that the other teenager was not at all interested in Scott’s worries, nibbling on the end of his pen and letting his tongue sneak out every so often in concentration, his eyes almost pulling the words of the page with his intent gaze. “Why do you care so much?”

“Be- _cause_.” Scott said, not hiding the slight whine in his tone, hoping it might drag Stiles into the conversation a little more, but it didn’t really work, “He might be in trouble.”

“Mm.” This time, the sound sounded a lot less inquisitive, and a little more accusing, harsher and shorter in the hope that it would be the end of their conversation.

“I don’t know.” Grumbling a little, Scott nudged Stiles notebook, shaking it so that is was almost impossible to write on, undeniably demanding his attention. “Something’s up Stiles, and I need to figure out what.”

“Can’t you just accept the fact that maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore?” Stiles snapped, jerking his notebook out of Scott’s juvenile shuffling game, his sharp gaze pinning Scott down in his seat, his mouth hung open slightly in shock.

Despite any other sarcasm or edginess that Scott might have detected or endured, this one was meant almost maliciously, and it hit him in the chest like a gust of strong wind, knocking the air out of him and causing a mild panic.

Silently, Scott drew back his hands, and began flicking through his textbook again, trying to keep the noise to a minimum, in case it bugged Stiles even further. By the time he'd gathered his thoughts and an apology had slipped to the edge of his tongue, Stiles was writing furiously, and Scott suddenly didn't want to break the spell.

And so for the next seven and a half minutes, Scott watched Stiles work instead of doing his own essay, confused and a little hurt by Stiles' snappy response. When he finally reached a lull in his inspiration and sat back again, Scott asked, quietly:

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Stiles replied, in a tone that communicated that something was indeed very wrong.

"What's going on?" Scott asked, a little quieter, not trying to push it, but also not wanting to let it go. “Has something happened?”

“I’m fine.”

Scott didn’t say anything for a moment, instead choosing to bite his lip and stare at Stiles’ bent head, trying to work out what was going on inside of it.

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

After a deep sigh, Stiles looked up again, his face shut off and reserved.

“Can we please just drop it, Scott? I don’t want to waste any more time than necessary on this god damn Econ. essay - we need to defeat the Alpha pack tonight, and we need as much time as we can get. Alright?”

Without a word, Scott nodded, and went back to his essay, tapping his pen intermittently, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes and his heart sinking in his chest. Ever since they were tiny, Stiles had always told him when something was wrong, even if he didn’t think that it would make the situation any better. It was what they did; they were best friends. For the first time in years, Scott was concerned about their friendship, and it made him feel slightly ill; Stiles was the constant in his life, no matter what happened, and it shook him to think that he might not be present, for even a single second of it.

Stiles had to tell him at some point though, right?

But the teenager’s secret stayed deeply hidden for weeks, months, before it gaped open in one night of total terror, everyone he cared about finding out in one horrific second, the silence that came after the reveal almost too painful to stand.

That’s July. At this point in the story, however, it’s early December, and Scott was pining for Isaac, although he didn’t really understand that that was what the feeling was. It wasn’t totally one-sided, either, despite each person’s secret fears.

Their friendship was only a base for the things that were soon to come.

\--

It was the fourth day of 'sober week'.

Isaac hadn't had any injuries for four days, but he knew that they were coming. It was the anticipation that was killing him, knowing that in a few more days, the strict words and restrained hands would be set free and it would be back to flying fists and hours spent locked in the freezer; he couldn't stand it.

Mealtimes were the worst; Isaac was grilled about his grades and his social life to the point where Isaac really thought his father was going to hit him, but then he never did. It was usually the time of year that his father found the most out about Isaac, but at least this year Isaac had some positive things to tell him, as he knew this interrogation was coming. It had taken weeks of hard work to bring his chemistry level up to a B+, and now it might actually pay off.

Dinner on the fourth night was the worst; it was a 'social life' conversation, which sucked, because Isaac's friends were practically non-existent, or they only spoke to him when they really had to.

"So, who're you hanging around with these days?" His father asked, after everything had been dished up and awkward silence had settled for a few minutes. It was pasta; Isaac hated pasta.

“Uh-um, the usual.” The teenager pushed his food around his plate, “Still talk to Ellie a bit. And Matt’s still around.”

“Good.” His father replied, his voice surprisingly calm. “Anyone new?”

For a split second, Isaac thought about telling his father about Scott, about how sincere and kind he was, and how easily the conversation flowed between them.

But he didn’t know enough about him to pull it off.

“Nope, not really.”

Tapping his foot on the floor, Isaac tried to eat some more pasta, reluctant to waste anything, but feeling so nauseous that he could barely swallow anything without wanting to instantly throw it back up.

After silence settled for a moment, both people in the room staring at their plates, one out of fear and the other just because he didn’t want to look at his son any longer than necessary. This silence carried a heavy weight with them both, but they both looked up again when the elder of the two sighed loudly, clearing his throat, ready to say something.

“Isaac, I’m going to ask you to do something, and I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

Stiffening slightly, Isaac nodded, his eyes lowered once again respectfully to the plate in front of him, ears pricked for any harsh words that might come his way.

"Your brother's room. It needs to be cleared by the end of this week."

Whatever Isaac had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. However, as he pulled his head up to face his father, his mouth open half in shock, and half in preparation for complaint, the elder male spoke again, sensing Isaac's discomfort.

"I want it done." He said, in a dangerously calm voice, "It's been untouched for almost five years, not doing anything of use. By the end of this week."

Despite the twitching in his jaw and a scream that was building up inside of him, desperate to get out, Isaac nodded, and pulled his gaze back to his uneaten dinner. To argue with his dad now would only be asking for trouble, especially on the subject of Camden.

"Also," The man continued, scraping his plate of pasta and finishing it in one last mouthful, "I think it's about time you started saving for college. Tomorrow, after school, we're going to the bank and opening you an account. One of my sons is already dead - you aren't going to be another fuck up."

Words rattled around Isaac's brain, dead and fuck-up echoing especially, but he eventually forced out an agreement, pushing all other thoughts out of his brain and focusing on the here and now, forcing the overwhelming urge to curl up in a ball and ignore everything out of his response options.

"Good." His father stood up abruptly from the table, knocking it and clattering the plates a little, causing Isaac to jump like a startled deer, and a small smirk to settle on the elder man's face, "Quit being such a girl. Your turn to do dishes."

On the way out of the kitchen/dining room, Isaac's father threw his dishes in the sink, barely registering the harsh noises they made as they clattered against each other, which also made Isaac wince. Seconds later, Isaac heard the tv turn on, babbling about a new celebrity couple and a possible terrorist attack, the newswoman speaking so calmly and formally that it almost soothed Isaac; people who spoke nicely always calmed him down. (He hoped Scott spoke nicely.)

It had been five days since he'd spoken to Scott and it was starting to take it's toll; talking to him every day had become his way to vent his feelings and frustrations, to actually talk to someone; everything was building up and up again, and Isaac was starting to feel his inner walls building up again, blocking out everyone and everything. He really hoped that he would be able to talk to Scott again soon, else he wasn't sure how much longer he could go on without him.

\--

Heart pounding nervously in his chest, Isaac Lahey stood in front of the cracked, white door.

This room hadn’t been looked at, the door hadn’t been opened, in almost five years.

After his brother died, both members of the family had avoided the room like the plague, refusing to acknowledge its existence and pretending that maybe Camden was still in there.

Grief was a bit of a stupid thing, Isaac thought. It’s like having shards of glass in your heart that hurt so badly at first that you almost can’t take it, and slowly you eventually get used to, but if you twist a certain way or lean too far forward then the pain comes back sharper and crueler, settling to a dull ache, but never fully leaving.

Entering Camden’s room was going to be a painful twist to the heart, and Isaac didn’t know if he was emotionally ready for it.

Slowly, he entered the room, the stale air hitting him in the face at full force, almost causing him to stagger back. It took serious control to not let his eyes well at the sight of all of his brother's old stuff, packed so neatly into their storage sections, the few books that stood to attention on his bookshelf obstructed only by a thick layer of dust.

The neat single bed was under the window along the side of the room, it's headboard resting on the side of the wardrobe. As Isaac watched, the draft from the hallway breathed life into the room, the papers on the desk rustling, the blind shivering, and the layer of dust preparing it's goodbyes.

Shaking slightly, the teenager forced himself to take another few steps, and reached over the bed to jerkily open the rusty window. By the time he managed it, his thoughts had turned to papier-mâché and his tongue to sandpaper; he got out of the room as fast as he could, breathing heavily to try and dislodge the wrongness he felt in every part of his body, seeping through his bloodstream and aching in his bones.

As he stood in the hallway, his back against the door, he heard a shuffling further down the corridor in the lounge, and suddenly his dad's head appeared around the corner, a line of cold anger settled on his face.

"For fucks sake, it's just cleaning out a room, what's your fucking problem?"

Before Isaac could even form his mashed up mind into thoughts, his mouth was spitting out words, shaky, but heartfelt.

"Oh yeah? If it's that fucking easy, why aren't you doing it?"

Silence hit them both hard in the gut after that, and it gnawed at Isaac relentlessly, his nerves shuddering in his limbs.

Sighing, Isaac's father began to move down the hallway, oh so slowly, but the masked anger was still there, and his movements were almost reptilian. By the time he stopped in front of Isaac, the teenager didn't think he regretted anything more than what he just said, the words burning in his throat like whiskey.

"Isaac," The elder male began, meeting the boy's eye and tilting his head slightly in a mildly menacing manner, "You know that isn't the way to speak to your elders."

"I'm sorry." Isaac breathed, his father so close that he wouldn't have to speak any louder for him to hear.

But his father's gaze was burning, ice cold fire that almost melted Isaac's insides. In a split second, his father's arm was pressed horizontally on his throat, choking him instantly.

"What was that?" His query was so calm and collected that he could have been asking about the weather. When Isaac didn't instantly respond, he pushed a little harder.

"I'm sorry!" The words that escaped were half-strangled, "I'm sorry."

The second his father released his grip, Isaac felt a funny surge of relief and light-headedness, and decided to keep his mouth firmly shut.

"Get on with it." His father snapped, before he stormed back down the corridor to the tv.

Before Isaac could say anything else stupid, he pushed his way back into the room, barely even caring that it would be horrible, because holy shit was it better than being out there.

Breathing deeply, Isaac tried to detach himself from the room, pretend it was someone else's - _no one he knew_.

Thankfully, it worked for long enough that Isaac managed to clear the desk and the sparse shelves, before he let out a strange whine and had to leave the room for the night, leaving the bag of trash outside the door and taking the few remaining books into his own tiny room, and burying himself in homework to try and hide his pain.

Only 3 days until everything went back to normal.

\--

"I'd like to open an account for a minor. Yes. My son. Seventeen."

Bleak grey walls surrounded them in the massive tin box that was the bank. Boring looking people in boring looking suits stood around with clipboards, asking various non-queueing people whether they needed help, and then standing and staring off into space.

The queue itself spanned almost two thirds of the room, and Isaac and his father had only just reached the front, after 20 minutes of tedious waiting (Isaac's father was almost at the end of his tether, and it was making Isaac nervous, although he knew he would never blow up in a place as public as this).

After only a few smiles and a little chatter, the receptionist at cashier 6 redirected them to some comfortable chairs on their far right with a set of forms.

"Take as long as you need!" She replied, chirpily, as she pushed the button for the next customer, and waved them on.

The pair sat in silence and began filling in separate forms, Isaac filling in his personal details and his father filling in one about taxes and interest. Overall, it probably took about 15 minutes for them to complete, and then another half hour to stand in line again before they could get them verified.

"Okay, sir, we're almost done here - do you have any money you'd like to deposit?"

Isaac drew out a small white envelope, which contained all the birthday and christmas money he'd received over the past few years, and wages from the scattered jobs he'd acquired and lost. Overall, it amounted to just over $300, and he did not want his father to see it. As he slid the envelope through the hatch, he felt his father's eyes on him, but he ignored them, and focused instead on the woman stapling the envelope to his papers.

"Thank you very much, sir - you'll receive your card, pin and online details in three separate letters in the next couple of weeks. Apart from that, everything's done." She gave him a half-sincere, half-exhausted smile. "Have a nice day."

And that was that; Isaac had a bank account. He could earn money properly, he could buy things, he could save up for a computer of his own.

It was an exhilarating thought.

\--

Next, the storage unit; Isaac was particularly afraid to tackle this bit because, at times, it would contain really personal things to Camden, and he didn't know how he was going to manage it.

 _Just a stranger's room._ He tried to persuade himself. _Nothing to do with me._

As he opened the cupboard, he had to swallow a small cry, as the sight of all his brother's things made him want to curl up in a ball and cry.

_Nothing to do with me._

Slowly, he began to sort the items, breathing a little deeper over some items more than others.

-

He was five. Camden was ten.

It was the summer holidays, and it was raining outside; they were both bored to pieces.

Neither of them were particularly big fans of monopoly, but they played anyway, making up new rules as they went along and stealing money from the bank whenever they needed it.

That was before Camden had started ignoring him.

-

Isaac threw the monopoly box into the black trash bag with a little more force than necessary, and allowed a collection of army dolls to follow it. As predicted, all the recent stuff was at the top and all the older stuff at the bottom, and so Isaac had started there, hoping that kid things wouldn't be as upsetting as recent things. He might have been wrong.

School reports flashed by, Isaac not daring to look at them for more than half a second. Exercise books followed, no doubt filled with countless doodles and not much actual work.

_Nothing to do with me._

Army outfits went past too, complete with plastic guns and stupid fake helmets.

-

"No, Isaac. You can't play with us."

Isaac was six. Camden was eleven.

"Why not?" Isaac probably pouted, leaning farther out the back door, but Camden wasn't having any of his 'cuteness', especially in front of his friends.

"Because you're too little." Camden snapped, "Now go away."

Isaac had run off to his mother then, but she was in the study, On The Phone, and he knew he wasn't allowed to disturb her.

He's sat in his room and watched them from the window instead, sometimes whispering along, holding his fingers in a fake gun pose, desperate to pretend that he was involved in the game outside.

-

Board games, school projects, old cell phones, soccer trophies, notebook after notebook of drawings and doodles and little comic strips-

-

"Whatcha doing?"

Isaac was nine. Camden was fourteen.

The younger of the two was hovering by the open door to the elder one's bedroom, his hesitance noted and his presence questioned.

"Just wanted to see what you were doing."

"If you've got nothing to say, you can fuck off."

But Isaac did have something to say: the real reason he had decided to brave the risky jaunt into his elder brother's room. It was as he took a step forward - albeit shakily - that he blurted it out.

"Mom's not gonna get better, is she?"

This, Camden had clearly not been expecting, his head snapping up from where it had been bent over his sketch pad, and - after his moment of shock - he sighed, and pushed the pad away from him ever so slightly.

"C'mere." He shuffled a little on the bed, leaving an Isaac sized space next to him.

Surprised, Isaac obediently walked up to the bed and sat beside him, careful to keep his feet hanging off the edge, trying not to seem too pleased with this outcome. (His brother barely even spoke to him anymore. He was never home, never here, never willing to talk - always out, always moving, always trying to escape the shitty deal life had dealt him).

"Isaac, Mom's been sick for a while," Camden began, not meeting Isaac's eye and biting his lip, "And she might be sick for a lot longer."

"But she won't get better?"

"The doctors say she probably won't, no. She'll just keep getting worse until- she, y'know." Camden put his arm around his little brother - a rare sign of affection. "I'm sorry, Is."

"Why are you sorry?" The younger sibling asked in a moment of confusion, his face screwed up in an effort not to think about what this might mean; a life without Mom.

"'Cause it hurts, and I can't do anything to stop it."

Isaac vividly remembered being shocked at his brother's teary eyes, and he reached up to put his arms around his brother in what was supposed to be a hug, but was probably more of a suffocation. After a second of surprise, Camden hugged him back, and then pulled away, a shaky smile on his face

"Wanna play pictionary?"

Doodles covered the page in front of them - some surprisingly good - and Isaac marvelled at them before a blank page was presented, and the best game of pictionary he'd ever played commenced.

The weirdest part of that memory was the fact that their father heard the commotion and joined in, encouraging the hilarity and contributing himself. But that was a long time ago.

-

Shakily, Isaac rubbed his hands over his face, trying to dispel the memory and drag himself back to the present.

It had been almost an hour since he'd been in here, and he'd only cleared two out of the five shelves; it was almost time to head to work.

Dusting himself off, he quickly grabbed an extra jumper from his room before he added his coat and scarf, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground as he walked through the lounge and out through the front door, hoping that his father wouldn't offer to give him a lift. It was a half-hour walk to the cemetery and a ten minute drive (as there was a ton of one way streets), but Isaac thought he'd rather walk for thirty minutes in the freezing cold than sit for even ten minutes in the warmth with someone who was forcing him to relive hell like this.

Hours passed, and before he knew it, Isaac had sat through an entire shift of grave-digging, his fingers so numb he could barely feel them, and his eyes drooping with exhaustion; the half-hour walk back was worse, as it wasn't five 'o' clock anymore, it was two in the morning, and the world was eerily quiet. This was the bit that Isaac always hated, as it put thoughts that he might be the only person left into his head, and then he would start to panic, jumping at every noise, and power-walking the entire way, paranoia twisting in his throat and his heart screaming in his chest every time he shut the front door behind him, relieving it all in one heavy sigh.

Despite the fact that it was two am, and he had school in the morning, he couldn't help but venture into the room opposite his in the hallway, hovering in the doorway and then turning the desk lamp on.

Debris was scattered, but it was organised debris, and he sunk into it like he would into his pillow hours later, desperate for it to overwhelm him and overtake all his other senses.

-

"You've got to paint your eggs. It's tradition."

Isaac was nine and three quarters. Camden was almost fifteen.

Their Mom had gotten better.

Well, the doctor's had said that her levels were all improving and the treatment was going well, so much so that she'd been allowed to come home for Easter.

"Mom, I'm fifteen. I'm not painting some stupid egg."

"Camden Lahey, you will stick to our family's tradition whether you're fifteen or not. Which you are not, by the way."

"Almost." He grumbled, but he took a seat at the kitchen table, apparently unable to resist the fact that his Mom was actually home. Clad only in his pyjamas and a small frown, Camden began to paint his hard boiled egg, swirling colours all over it in an imitation of Van Gogh's starry night, although Isaac didn't realise this until his father pointed it out. The youngest child was also painting his egg, although in a much more abstract way, choosing to paint whatever he fancied, not really aiming towards anything. Of course, this led to mild disappointment later that he hadn't made anything special, but at that moment, Isaac didn't really care.

They'd just enjoyed having their family together again.

-

Two months after that, their mother had gone back into hospital for a new treatment, one they thought would finish off the cancer forever; she didn't come back.

The last thing on the third shelf, after Isaac had sorted through a bunch of crap that could never be resold and a few stuffed toys that might make it to the charity shop, he found a shoebox, containing all the eggs they'd painted that year, carefully glued back together after they'd eaten the insides for breakfast along with sticks of toast. Of course, Camden's was still exceptional, even with a crack running through it, and Isaac's was a mess of colours, finished off with a black smiley face that had run a little bit with the rest of the paint. They were carefully placed in a sea of tissue paper, each one with a few millimetres of wriggle-room either side.

This was too hard.

_Nothing to do with me. I don't know this person's room. Absolutely nothing to do with me._

After that, Isaac refused to connect any more memories with objects, making it all the way to the end of the fifth shelf before he gave in and had to leave, taking one last specific memory with him, before he curled up on his bed and slept until his morning alarm, grief haunting him day and night, sapping his energy.

-

Isaac was eleven. Camden was sixteen.

Their mother was dying for the last time.

She'd been in hospital for over a year now, since the Easter celebration; they'd come so close to a breakthrough so many times that it started to wear them down, becoming unbelievably pessimistic about every treatment they tried, and they'd been right to be.

Last week, they told her that there was nothing more that they could do for her: they were out of treatments. The cancer was coming on fast, and it was starting to make her drowsy and delirious, and so the boys had come to say goodbye to her, one last time.

Camden had his headphones plugged in, attached to a shiny new iPod he'd saved up for a couple of months ago and had used constantly since he'd bought it, uploading CD's to his computer and transferring them all the time. Isaac was sat on the seat beside him with a book, scuffing his shoes on the ground, waiting for the doctor to allow them into the room. At this moment, neither of them knew that this would be the last time they got to speak to their mother, but they both realised soon enough.

"Boys." Their father appeared from around the corner, his face haggard and tired, grey hairs peppered in all over the place, his glasses askew on his nose, "You can come in now."

Carefully bookmarking and pausing their activities, both males stood and moved across the corridor, towards their mother, entering the room at the same time and trying to stifle simultaneous gasps.

If their father had looked bad, she looked worse.

Papery, wrinkly skin, despite her reasonably young age, and hair that was almost entirely gone, eyes so tired and agitated that they felt like a burden just being there; she smiled, however, when they came in, and twitched her fingers in a motion for them to each take a hand, and so they did.

"Boys, my boys," She began, her voice weak and raspy, "You know how much I love you, right?"

This moment was the moment that they both realised that this was it: the end. This was the end of their time with their mother.

"We love you too, Mom." Isaac whispered, squeezing her fingers gently, trying unbelievably hard to keep his face smiling and positive, trying so hard to not let her know that he knew.

After this, most of what Isaac remembered was just blank, and then their father shuffling them from the room, a lot of doctors, and sharing his brother's iPod, one earphone each, sat in the waiting room, holding their breaths and barely listening to the lyrics.

She died at 18:23.

-

Tossing and turning in bed, Isaac couldn't get the image of their father out of his head, after that horrific moment, when all the life just dropped out of his face. It haunted him still, knowing that that expression was probably reflected on both his and Camden's faces, and yet neither of them had dared to look.

-

Isaac was twelve years and eleven months. Camden was eighteen.

"I'm joining the army."

Silence.

"No, you're not." Their father replied, putting his dinner fork down purposefully from his pasta and staring his eldest son straight in the eye, his tone icy, "No way in hell."

"I applied for the training course a few months back, and they accepted. It starts tomorrow."

Never had Isaac felt so totally abandoned in his life as he'd watched Camden talk his father into it over the dinner table - he always had been a bit of a smooth talker - and his heart just plummeted.

He had begged him not to go - literally begged on his knees before Camden had left the next morning, tears gathering in his eyes as he pleaded with his brother not to leave him alone with just his father and his thoughts, trapped in the house along with the spirit of their dead mother.

But no amount of crying or screaming had stopped him, hadn't even phased him. He had just kept walking.

-

Maybe that was what scared Isaac the most.

-

Isaac was 13. Camden was dead.

Technically 'missing in action, presumed dead', but, even with the word 'presumed', there wasn't a difference.

For a while, Isaac had hoped that they might be mistaken, oh how he had hoped, but deep down he knew it wasn't right. Camden's troop had gone into an area of serious conflict to try and disband a protest, and then a riot had broken out, members from both sides being taken and tortured for information, locked up in prison and killed randomly until there were no more left.

Or so the military had heard.

It was a constant, living nightmare, that tiny 1% of Isaac believing that maybe, just maybe Camden was still alive, but it was worse, so much worse than thinking he was dead. That hope, that possibility, drove him insane.

They had the funeral anyway, and it had been a surprisingly big turnout. Isaac had met Camden's girlfriend for the first time ever, and relatives Isaac didn't even know existed were giving their condolences and wishing him all the best.

But that wasn't the hell that Isaac had been left to deal with, no - the hell had been the months afterwards, his father's drinking steadily increasing until he regularly turned up to work completely drunk off his face, the violence in the household rising until that one day, when Isaac was fifteen and three days old, he went into the freezer for the first time.

And he would never forgive Camden for it.

\--

The next couple of days were a blur of throwing things into black bags and suffering through school, the countdown to Camden's death day getting closer and closer, it's decrease inversely proportional to Isaac's nerves.

Cleaning the place up was all he had left to do now, after being instructed to leave the furniture as it was, but to strip the sheets off the bed.

He made it almost all the way with the cleaning, keeping his face masked and totally blank for the majority - nothing to do with me, nothing to do with me - but it all stopped when he changed the sheets on the bed, taking them off the pillows and the duvet with ease, but finding something of interest when he took off the sheet.

When he put the mattress back down on the solid bed frame after pulling the sheet off, he heard a strange clunk - one he was sure was not supposed to be there. After a minor inspection, he found something taped to the underside of the mattress, something small and rectangular.

At first, Isaac thought it was a notebook, but, as he pulled the Sellotape off with a harsh rip, he realised it was actually an old cellphone. Holding his breath, he flipped up the screen and held down the on button, almost jumping out of his skin when the harsh beep sounded that meant it was turning on.

Texts beeped up almost as soon as the screen showed a menu, and Isaac slowly reached his thumb over to the button that allowed him to open them - who would yell at him for reading them? No-one who was alive at that moment really cared.

**7 NEW MESSAGES**

The first couple were from an old friend called 'dan the man', who appeared to want something he'd borrowed back, and asked for it a few times in the same week, before giving up.

But the other four were from someone called Jessie: Camden's girlfriend.

**Jessie 17:10  
** i dont know what to say. this  
feels so stupid but i dont know  
how else to tell you. i miss you  
so much and i think about you  
all the time but then i shouldn't  
bcs hell, we were barely even  
together when you died, but  
then i can't just let you go like  
that. i dont want to let you go 

**Jessie 17:13  
** sorry. i don't know who'll get  
these messages now. probably  
your dad or ur brother. im just  
not ready for life without you.  
please come back 

**Jessie 10:10  
** i just thought i'd let you know  
that i've found someone, and  
he makes me really happy. it  
feels stupid sending you this,  
but i couldn't think of any  
other way without it seeming  
like i was talking to myself. i  
hope you're okay, wherever  
you are. (i'll always love you,  
no matter what, but i have to  
move on now. i hope u know  
that) 

**Jessie 03:40  
** i'm pregnant with his kid. i'm  
pregnant and it's so scary but  
it's so exciting and i don't know  
how to tell him - on the one  
hand i'm way too young but  
then, why should i wait? i've  
been with sean for almost  
two years, and we're always  
talking about getting married.  
i don't know why i still have  
your number in my phone. i  
guess i just like to think that  
if you were alive, you'd be the  
first person i'd tell.  
i'm sorry.  
here's to the future, hey? i wish 

******you could have been godfather.**

******(i'll stop now. i promise.)**

And, true to her word, Jessica hadn't sent any more texts since last February.

-

When Isaac shut Camden's bedroom door that day, it was the evening before the day of the anniversary, and he made a personal vow to himself and all the Gods that might be above that he would remember Camden for the person that he was, and for what he meant to people, because at the time of his death, his brother was surely fighting his own demons too, and Isaac needed to stop blaming him for their father's behaviour.

Not only did he need to stop blaming Camden, but he also needed to try and stop blaming himself.

-

Countdown to Camden's death anniversary - zero days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yus ik camden in canonverse is 7 yrs older than isaac but pls just let me have this (ik it has quite the knock on effect bcs ive been trying to fix it for about an hour but its 2am and my brain isnt very good with that sort of thing and i needed certain ages for certain memories so im just gonna keep it im sorry)
> 
> (p.s. is it too apparent that i love isaac lahey a lot)
> 
> (p.p.s. i also changed my name i used to be structuredheart pls dont be confused!!)
> 
> (p.p.p.s. yo also i just thought i'd ask - although i'm putting this out on tumblr as well - would anyone be willing to beta for me!? it would involve me emailing u the chapter before it goes up to double check for spelling mistakes (or yknow something like 'go' instead of 'got' which spellcheck wouldn't pick up on but another person would) and probably letting me bounce ideas or suggestions off u every so often and getting ur opinion on stuff (like if stuff is too out of character or too cheesy or whatever) - ur turnaround wouldnt have to b particularly fast bcs im lazy as hell and i write so slowly but ya it would be cool if it wasn't more than a couple of days??? ALSO TO PICK UP ON BRITISH TERMS THAT CAN BE CHANGED TO AMERICAN THAT WOULD B HELLA RAD BCS I SUCK MAJORLY AT THAT but yh ud have to be comfortable with giving me ur email address but that's about it!! thank u!!!!)


	4. first realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott realises a few things, Isaac has a horrible day and contact between the two camps is finally reinstated.

"Would you just date her already?"

"Stiles, don't."

"If I'm going to have to live vicariously through you, I will. Don't think that I won't."

Scott and Stiles were sat in the jeep on the way home from school, Stiles keeping up the pretence of driving whilst using the time he had to grill Scott on his non-existent relationship with the only girl who appeared to be getting anywhere with him.

"Dude, I'm just not..." Scott tried to communicate his resistance with his hands, "I don't really want to."

"And why the hell not?" Stiles demanded, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and another pointed in Scott's face, "She's hot, she's smart and she's interested. What more do you want?"

The other teenager just sighed and sunk lower into his seat, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to talk himself out of this one; Allison just didn't seem like the sort of person he could see himself getting together with. 

"Just go on one date." Stiles insisted, "She'll say yes, I'm, like, 94% sure."

A look was exchanged.

"Okay, probably 61% sure. But still, man, this is the way forward."

"Sounds like you're talking about new technology or something." Scott mumbled, resting his arm on the window frame and leaning his chin on his crooked elbow. "I just don't really want to."

Regretting it almost instantly, as the car swerved jauntily around the corner to the quiet street and Scott's head smacked painfully against the window, he sat up again, rubbing the sore patch on his forehead and trying to glare at Stiles, and failing. Stiles continued to try and persuade Scott to ask Allison out, finally causing him to snap after ten minutes of it, just as they were drawing up to Stiles' house.

"Look, Stiles, I'll think about asking her out, but I'm not promising anything, alright?"

"Alright." Stiles looked far too pleased with himself, "You up for a round of Mario Kart?"

"Only if you're ready to lose." The other teen responded with, his pathetic excuse for fighting talk causing Stiles to snort in amusement and lock up the jeep, practically dragging his friend inside in his enthusiasm to start the game.

Scott wasn't stupid; he could be a bit oblivious sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. This plan of Stiles' wasn't just to make Scott happy, or get himself closer to Lydia Martin; this was also part of something else - distracting Scott from Isaac's absence. Whilst it had only been a week since they last communicated, it was driving Scott crazy, and Stiles knew it. If Stiles didn't reply to a text within ten minutes, Scott was the sort of person to text him again to check that he did in fact get the text, and then get offended if he did, and just chose not to reply. Lack of communication was something Scott was not a fan of, and it was even harder with someone whose house you couldn't go and knock on for twenty minutes until they finally answered your question.

Stiles knew that Scott was taking Isaac's ignoring personally, and he was trying to distract him.

It was a nice idea, but it wasn't really working out.

 

-

People were pushing past him at an alarming rate as he tried to grab his Spanish textbook out of his locker, wrestling with the books he was trying to put back in and trying not to fall over backwards as he did so.

"Hey, Scott!" 

Spinning on his heel - and almost losing his Spanish textbook at the same time - Scott came face to face with Allison, blinking owlishly at her as she grinned widely and moved to the other side of Scott's locker, allowing him to continue getting things out of his locker whilst staying out of the main fray.

"Good week?" She asked, raising her voice above the sound of the school, but somehow remaining casual, her face open and pleasant.

"Not too bad." Scott replied, finally managing to get his books in the correct places and zipping his bag shut, followed by the harsh smack of his locker closing. "You?"

"S'been alright." As they walked towards their next lesson, Scott realised that her coming over had been planned, and he felt the nerves kick in. "Planning on going bowling tonight with some people, though. Calm down a bit after all those exams."

"Sounds fun." Scott replied, honestly not seeing where this was going, his obliviousness hindering the situation a little. As they turned the corner to the corridor, the first flicker of nervousness appeared on the brunette's face, as she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down at her shoes.

"You wanna come?" She asked, speaking the words so quickly they almost blurred into one, but somehow Scott managed to understand them, "I mean, you don't have to, obviously, but-"

"I-I'd love to." Scott blurted out, only half thinking about his promise to Stiles at this point, and more just out of instinct. "Yeah. That'd be good."

"Great." She grinned back, her face relieved of all it's nerves and tightness, relaxing into a soft smile and slightly giddy eyes. "Lydia's supposed to be picking me up - do you want me to ask her to swing by once she's got me?"

"Th-that'd be great." Scott replied, a surprised grin on his face, eager to please this girl who appeared to be genuinely interested in him. "I, er, I should probably say, I'm pretty terrible at bowling."

"Don't worry, it's not a serious competition," She half-teased, but her face was filled with relief, "Just a quick game."

They reached the door to the Spanish classroom just as they began some other smalltalk about their homework or the upcoming holidays, and Scott suddenly realised that Stiles - already settled in his seat - was staring at them both intensely, his eyes watching them like a hawk and a glint in his eye.

"I'll, er, see you tonight, then." Allison grinned, shuffling awkwardly past Scott to get to her seat. "Seven-ish?"

"Great." He managed to get out, letting the reality of the situation dawn on him with slight unease. "Seven-ish."

Almost before Allison had made her way to the back of the classroom, Stiles was slapping Scott on the arm repeatedly like a 12 year-old girl and visibly trying to hold in his glee.

"That's my boy." He hissed, excitedly, his eyes alight at this new possible event. 

"It's just bowling, Stiles." Scott muttered, but this only improved Stiles' mood, before a look of horror settled on his features.

"Scott, you're terrible at bowling."

"And? It's just a game." The teenager hissed back as the class settled down, the teacher requesting silence before she took the names of any absentees. 

"You don't know that! What if this is her test of your masculinity or something?"

"Mr Stilinski, please refrain from talking during my class." The Spanish teacher asked, semi-politely but also a little accusingly, from the front of the classroom, before she launched into lesson mode.

They didn't talk again until the end of the day.

\--

"Scott, where exactly are you going?" Melissa asked as she came in from work at 6:35 that evening, watching her son rush around the house in faint amusement, but also curiosity. "I thought you were staying in tonight?"

"Nope, Allison invited me to go bowling." Scott hopped through the living room as he attempted to put on his other sock without falling over, whilst simultaneously trying to log onto the forums on his phone so that he could check up on Isaac whilst he waited for them to pick him up. It was semi-disastrous. 

"Jesus, Scott!" Melissa rushed forward, picking her son up off the floor, after he stumbled and narrowly missed hitting his head on the coffee table. "One thing at a time. Who exactly are you going bowling with?"

"Dunno." Scott admitted, finally, after pulling his other sock on properly, looking a little dishevelled, but otherwise unarmed, phone still in hand. "Allison just said she was going out with some friends, and did I want to come?"

"Right," Mrs McCall said, patiently, "And who is Allison?" 

Scott tried not to smack himself in the face with stupidity. _Forgot to tell her about Allison._

"She's the new girl at school, hangs around with Lydia, but she seems pretty cool."

"And how long have you two been talking?"

Slowly, Scott started to gather himself together again and began to move around the room, picking up various keys and $10 notes, but continued to talk as he did so, so as not to irritate or raise suspicions in his mother.

"Couple of weeks. She started in the middle of this semester, but I didn't really talk to her much at the start. We share quite a few classes, so- have you seen my phone?"

"In your hand." Melissa replied, smiling at her son, hearing things in what he wasn't saying, but still a little suspicious, "You've never mentioned her before. You normally talk quite a lot about girls you like."

"I don't like her like that, Mom." Scott replied, now searching for his shoes, a small frown gracing his face, "This is just a friend thing."

"Right." Her sceptic tone was totally lost on Scott, but she cocked her head slightly as she surveyed his body language, realising he was communicating stress but unsure if the night's event was the sole purpose, "What about your internet friend? Is that all okay?"

Her avoidance of the word 'he' was deliberate, and this time it wasn't lost on Scott, as if highlighting the fact that the past week and a half had been consisting entirely of Scott freaking out over Isaac's absence. The fact that this question was straight after one about relationships was also painstakingly obvious.

"Mom, I'm not gay. And I don't like Isaac like that either."

"That's not what I asked." She replied, a little too casually for it to be offhand, but she got up off the sofa arm she was perched on and moved towards the kitchen, "Should I save you some food?"

"I'm sure I'll eat out." Scott mumbled, looking down at his phone again and loading Isaac's profile page, the mention of his name reminding him what he was originally doing. There were no new messages or posts. "Allison's picking me up about seven-ish."

"Is Stiles going?" 

"Don't think so."

At that, Melissa almost visibly recoiled, dragging herself out of whatever mundane activity she was originally doing. It was almost a given that wherever Scott went, Stiles would follow, or vice versa, so this was a bit of a shock.

"Is he- alright with that?"

"Mom, he practically forced me into it. He's rooting for Allison and I to get together, so he's been constantly texting me since we left school."

"Alright." She didn't sound totally convinced, but she went about her activities again, a little slower this time. "Well, I hope you have fun, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom." He ran over to quickly kiss her cheek before he darted out the door, seeing a car pull up outside and presuming it was his ride, seeing as it was only a few minutes until seven. "See you later!"

This left Melissa McCall with a few thoughts for herself that evening, concerning her son's confident response to her subtle inquiry, and had her wondering how much she actually believed him. 

\--

"Allison wins."

If Scott was honest, there was barely even a competition in the first place; even as they began, Allison was weighing up the bowling balls with the expression of someone who knew what they were doing, and had proved this theory within the first five minutes, getting three strikes in three goes. Unfortunately for Scott, his score paled considerably beside it, despite the insisting of the people around him that it wasn't so bad; it was actually quite pleasant to socialise with some people that weren't Stiles, but it was definitely a strange feeling to be somewhere without him, and Scott knew that he couldn't keep this up for much longer.

"Not too bad." Allison grinned as she sat down on the bench next to Scott, nodding towards his score on the leaderboard, having just whacked out another spare and completely wiping the floor with the rest of them, the group deciding to end the game with that crushing defeat. "You're practically a professional."

"Haha." Scott shot back, sarcastically, but he was smiling too, "Didn't know you were so good - did you used to play?"

"My Dad's really into his weapons and stuff, so I've been trained in a few of them. Just a quick transition from that to this, I suppose."

"Weapons?" Scott raised his eyebrows in mock fear, "That sounds pretty sinister. Remind me not to get on your bad side!"

Allison let out a small chuckle, and rose from the seat beside the lane, following everyone else and indicating for Scott to walk with her. By then, it was almost half nine, and everyone was preparing to go home again (Scott suspected a few of them had other plans, but just didn't want to share them with him unless they felt obliged to invite him, which was perfectly fine - he was exhausted). 

"Yeah, at first it sounds a bit mad, but I guess it's also kinda cool? Like, you don't meet many teenagers trained in the art of the crossbow."

"That's one way to put it," Scott grinned, easily, unlacing his bowling shoes and putting them back on the counter neatly, sincerely thanking the guy who took them away, to his surprise and apparent pleasure, "Terrifying, is another."

"Well, no-one's going to piss me off, I guess?"

"Definitely not." He agreed, and then thanked her for being invited out to the evening.

"No problem," She replied, cheerfully, but then pointed to the car, "You need a lift home? I think I'm heading that way."

"Oh, erm, thanks." Scott replied, surprised at this proposal but also quietly relieved that he wouldn't have to walk home in the dark in the freezing month that was December. "It's pretty cold."

Laughing in agreement, Allison clambered into the driver's side of the car and motioned for Scott to get in the other side, pulling away from the curb smoothly as Scott clicked in his seatbelt. Night was settling comfortably into the town, curling its icy talons into the ground innocently, dormant but still deadly; driving through it felt like a breach of privacy, the quiet of the car leaving them the opportunity to get nervous and jumpy as they turned each street corner.

Fortunately, Allison appeared to be trained in the art of smalltalk as well as the art of the crossbow, and they managed to keep up a stream of chatter throughout the car ride, both of them trying to ignore the strange tension that appeared to be building the further they drove.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at school on Monday." Allison said with a smile as she drew to a stop outside Scott's house, "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah, it was great, thanks." Scott grinned back, electric nerves shooting though his body painfully as he unlocked the door, almost desperate to get out of the car, "I'll, er, see you Monday."

Finally, Scott manage to get out of the car, air tumbling out of his lungs in his relief, shaky breaths trying to catch up with one another. He made it halfway up the driveway when-

"Scott, hang on-"

Allison was clambering out of the driver's seat and up into the real world, her eyes anxious and her smile momentarily non-existent.

"I, er, just wanted to say something. Before Monday."

Scott half jogged back to the car, his nerves rocketing again and making him feel slightly ill. By her expression, he knew that it was on a serious note, but not as serious as it could have been, as she didn't look particularly grave; her uncertainty set him on edge, however, and he couldn't help but bite his lower lip a little.

"I just-" She paused, almost before she'd even started. "I heard you talking to Stiles earlier, and- I- I don't know. He presumed that this was a date, and-"

As soon as the word date slipped from her open lips, Scott knew what was coming.

"-and I didn't know if- I- God, I'm messing this up." She paused, and took a deep breath, "Do you consider this a date?"

Her eyes were anxious but a little defiant, as if she was daring him to call her out on fumbling over her words. Obviously, he didn't, but he did adopt the world-renowned 'bunny-in-the-headlights' expression.

"I, um-" Scott words were as unpracticed and rough as Allison's, tumbling over themselves in their desperation to be free. "I don't think so?"

"Okay." She said, a little slower than is normally expected, "So, this," (at this point, she gestured between them both) "-it isn't a thing?"

Scott didn't even know what to say, and instead let his tongue try to unscramble the words on the tip of it, but he wasn't quick enough.

"I don't mind if you don't want to," Allison said, a little hurriedly, contrasting her previous speech, "I just- I like you, Scott, but I- I just don't want to be a rebound. The- the person - I've heard Stiles talk about - that won't reply to you, and- please, just don't say anything yet-"

Just before the words hurtled out of his mouth, Scott caught them again, swallowing hard when he realised who Allison was talking about, but determined not to piss her off and so kept quiet.

"-I just don't want to be something that makes up for a hole someone else made in your life, Scott. I like you, yes, but if you aren't a hundred percent into this, then it's not going to work."

Quiet descended upon the pair for a moment as Scott considered what Allison said. He wasn't particularly sure whether he was supposed to speak yet, but a querying eyebrow from the brunette nudged him to reply, and he took a deep breath.

"Allison, it's really not like that-"

"If it's because it's a guy, I don't mind." Allison blurted out, almost before she could stop herself, "I mean, I know you can be into both - I- it wouldn't be weird."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Scott tried again, patiently, his eyes warm and open, "I meant that Isaac and I are just friends. No attraction there whatsoever. There isn't now, and there never has been."

"Are you sure?" She asked, after a short pause, nibbling her lip briefly before continuing, "You talk about him quite a lot."

"I don't!" Scott shot back, semi-indignantly, before catching himself and blinking a few times, "Do I?"

"Well, I thought you were dating him because you talk about him so much, and so did Lydia." She saw the expression on his face and quickly tried to explain herself, "I just mean- I- I don't know. You just- you talk about him a lot."

"I didn't realise." Scott said, slowly, a little dumbfounded. "I'll, um, try and stop, I guess."

"Do you like him?" Allison asked, quietly, leaning forward a little, tucking some hair behind her ear, "Seriously, Scott."

"I-" There was a moment of silence where Scott tried to comprehend what she was asking, before stuttering out a- "No- no! I'm into girls, I'm sure."

But both of them picked up on the wave of uncertainty in his tone as much as Scott tried to conceal it, the panic on his face after he spoke a confirmation of it's presence.

"Well," Allison started again, pulling open the driver's seat door and drawing a close to the conversation, "I just wanted to make sure that this wasn't taken as a date - I'll see you Monday?"

"Yeah, um-" Scott was still panicking a little, and Allison hated to leave him stood there, but she could tell that her presence was probably making everything worse. "Monday. Bye."

As she drove off, Scott tried not to scrunch his face up in frustration- girls, he liked _girls_ , right? All throughout childhood he'd fake-married girls as a toddler and had crushes on sweet girls in middle school and as a teenager he'd fantasised about all sorts of- _yeah,_ definitely into girls. But guys? He'd never really thought about it.

At around fourteen years old, Stiles had had a minor crisis in regards to his sexuality; he'd called Scott up at one in the morning and ran off a stream of words Scott barely understood before he said he was coming over. During that evening, they'd both run through a bunch of stuff, 'researching' things on the internet (it was in the event of a crisis, and was therefore justifiable), until Stiles decided that _hey, dudes were also kinda hot,_ and decided to officially change his sexuality to simply 'hot people'. The time had passed during the research, and whilst Stiles claimed to 'kind of' enjoy it, Scott didn't feel anything, and that he was pretty sure of.

Until now, when Allison had made him question everything.

Yeah, sure, he loved talking about Isaac - his childhood memories were so cute and he was so sarcastic and funny that Scott couldn't help but want to spread the joy of Isaac; wasn't it like that with all new friends?

Although, he had gone a tiny bit insane when Isaac hadn't replied to him in just a few days, and it was getting to the stage now where Scott would reread Isaac's old messages (almost 100 of them by this point) and try to imagine his voice, wondering whether their accents were similar, then straying to what he looked like, imagining him with his blond hair and blue eyes, trying to visualise him stood beside him and not being able to.

Suddenly, Scott was doubting everything.

He managed to make it up the path without too much difficulty, bypassing too much conversation with his mother as she was watching a mini-marathon of a tv soap and didn't want to be bothered too much, but he only just made it to his room before his breathing started to quicken and he scrabbled for his phone in his pocket.

SPEED-DIAL: 1 - STILES

Whilst he had tried to rescue his brand new phone from Stiles when he first got it to put his mother and the hospital at the top of his speed-dial list, Stiles had won their mini wrestling match and demanded that he be put first. In this case, it was a good idea.

"Stiles?" Scott almost screeched out when the ringing tone finally ended and a distant 'hello?' crackled through, "I need your help. I don't know what's going on- and, and- I'm questioning everything- I- how did you know that you liked guys?"

There was a slight pause before Stiles came back, suddenly sounding much clearer.

"Wow, definitely not a good time to use the speakerphone, eh? Right, so, you're panicking. Is this about Isaac?"

"I-er, I- maybe." Scott managed, ineloquently, before mumbling something under his breath, trying to collect his thoughts, not really registering the speakerphone comment, "Can you come over?"

"Why, wanna make out and see if you get a hard-on?" Stiles asked, in a tone so innocent and sincere that if it hadn't have been Stiles, Scott would have thought it genuine.

"I'm serious, Stiles." Scott gritted out through his teeth, pacing in his room and trying to keep his breathing regular.

"As am I-" Stiles started, before letting out a small laugh and brushing the topic aside, "Okay, okay, I can be over in twenty minutes. I'm guessing your little 'date' didn't go exactly to plan?"

"Not exactly." The other teen mumbled, before rounding off and ending the call, waiting the excruciating seventeen minutes before Stiles finally threw himself through Scott's window, the dark sky hanging solemnly behind him, a small grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"Right, finally we get to see your sexuality crisis."

"Not helpful, Stiles." Scott flopped onto the bed dramatically, shortly followed by his best friend, who lay next to him, nudging him with his elbow.

"What is it that's bugging you?"

A small silence hovered as Scott decided what to say, but scurried away as he opened his mouth a few seconds later.

"I like girls." A short pause. "But I might like Isaac."

"Why do you think you like Isaac?"

Slowly, carefully, Scott managed to explain his way around his situation, his words tripping him up occasionally, but eventually he got out his issues and turned to look at his best friend, pleading mercy with his eyes and almost begging for a solution.

"Right." The other teen reflected, "We have a long night ahead of us."

\--

Tables set in orderly rows; bright light shining from the dusty windows over the tired students; pens scribbling furiously on notepads; rustles of papers being turned over at high speed, a student looking for a certain quotation, perhaps; the monotonous drawl of the English teacher, lamenting one of his favourite points in Macbeth; it all rolled into one from Isaac's exhausted perspective.

"Lady Macbeth is one of Shakespeare’s most famous and frightening female characters. When we first see her, she is already plotting Duncan’s murder, and she is stronger, more ruthless, and more ambitious than her husband-"

_A sickening crack echoed through the room as the elder man's fist connected with Isaac's jaw, ignoring the pathetic cries that came from his son's mouth. White noise fizzled over Isaac's vision and his hearing dulled slightly as he fell into his emotionless state, trying so hard to contain his emotions and failing. His back met the wall as he staggered away from the blow, his stumble almost causing him to fall to his knees (but not quite). Through the haze of pain that floated around him, Isaac could sense his father coming closer; the heavy footsteps sounding suspiciously like a funeral march._

"-she seems fully aware of this and knows that she will have to push Macbeth into committing murder. At one point, she wishes that she were not a woman so that she could do it herself. This theme of the relationship between gender and power is key-"

_"Dad, please-"_

_"Shut the fuck up." Was the instant reply, "You deserve this, and you know it."_

_And, in that moment, Isaac did know it. He knew with every inch of his soul that he deserved to be hated and beaten and kicked to the ground, but it was just so hard. It was so hard to accept his sins and failures, especially when there were people out there who did the exact same things and got no such punishment. But this was now; those worries were for another time and another place. For now, he had to just fight through the pain._

"-to Lady Macbeth’s character: her husband implies that she is a masculine soul inhabiting a female body, which seems to link masculinity to ambition and violence."

_Punch after punch sent pain shooting through his body, the kicks coming swiftly after, Isaac instinctively curling into a ball and trying desperately to seem smaller than he already was. Of course, it didn't work in the fact that his father didn't stop hitting him - it just reduced the amount of space he had available to hit. But, really, that's all that mattered._

"-Shakespeare, however, seems to use her, and the witches, to undercut Macbeth’s idea that 'undaunted mettle should compose / Nothing but males'. These crafty women use female methods-"

_"You're so weak, you can't even face your own fucking father." Kick after punch after kick after punch, until- a brief, calculating pause."Get up."_

_At first, it seemed very faint to Isaac, the words blurring into one, long, irrelevant mess, but they were repeated - harsher, clearer, louder - and suddenly he was moving out of instinct, pushing himself up onto his knees even though it was the last thing he wanted to do._

"-of achieving power—that is, manipulation—to further their supposedly male ambitions. Women-"

_There was a harsh yank on his shoulder as he struggling to push himself that final stretch onto his feet, his limbs aching and bruising but his mind on autopilot, knowing that no matter how bad this was, it could always get worse._

_A heavy grunt escaped his father's mouth as he began to half-drag a stumbling Isaac towards the basement, ignoring his son's whimpers and weak protestations._

_"Please, Dad, no-"_

"-the play implies, can be just as ambitious and cruel-"

 _The rattle of the freezer's chains still sent chills down his spine as he began to let out his final scream, the one that wouldn't stop for what felt like hours; his own mind would twist his situation into a whole other world, where hallucinations would become reality and his own tortured sounds as the constant backing track_.

"-as men, yet social constraints deny them the means-"

_Banging on the door would make no difference, the hysteria bubbling within him and the desire to just reach, reach, reach for something bigger and **better** and just anything, really anything that might make this situation even the tiniest bit more manageable-_

"-to pursue these ambitions on their own. I- Mr. Lahey, are you alright?"

Suddenly, the orderly rows of his English class were all turning to look at him, headlined by his teacher, who was staring at him with a suitably concerned expression. In that moment, Isaac realised that he was gripping his pencil far too harshly, almost snapping it, his knuckles white and his jaw clenched. These actions would have been curious enough without adding in his excessively jumpy mood and his curious clothing attire, only just covering purple marks and red lines littered all over his skin, painted on by the previous night. 

"F-fine, sir." He managed, swallowing hard and shuffling in his seat slightly, but not altogether losing the English teacher's attention. Thankfully, however, the adult did move on, continuing his point about the strength of Lady Macbeth's character, whilst still keeping a wary eye on Isaac.

After ten more minutes of intermittent learning and furious attempts at concentration, Isaac finally made it to the end of the lesson, his fingers itching to pack up his stuff and head to the library, already imagining how the stiff computer keyboard would feel under his touch. However, just as he threw his stuff into his bag and got a few feet from the door, his English teacher called him back, his tone light but his demeanour serious.

"Mr Lahey! Could I have a quick word with you, please?"

Despite the stream of swear words running through Isaac's head at lightning pace in that moment, he managed to remain calm enough to walk to the front of the classroom and calmly address his teacher, waiting patiently until the rest of the students had left.

"Is everything all right Mr Lahey?" The teacher began, in a reasonably quiet voice, "You seemed very distant today."

"Fine, sir." Isaac repeated his earlier phrase, biting his lip a little, "Just tired."

"Ah, yes," The twenty-something year old chuckled a little, leaning back on the desk and shuffling with some papers, "Tiredness is the thing that kills us all in the end, ey? I guess I can't really blame you for that; school's pretty exhausting for me, and I'm only teaching one subject."

A weak smile took the place of an interesting and witty response from Isaac's end, as he tried to ignore how weirdly attractive his teacher was at this angle; he'd just pulled up from his strange leaning, and now had his arms folded and his head tilted, his half smile being the most distracting part of him.

"I do have to ask, though-" The young male continued, either not noticing Isaac's discomfort or choosing not to care, "This past week, has everything been alright at home? Your work wasn't quite up to the standard it usually is."

"Nothing." Was the only word of many that tried to pry it's way out of Isaac's lips and succeeded. "Minor rough patch."

"If you're sure." He hesitated slightly - just enough for Isaac to notice, but not for long enough that he felt he had to say anything about it - before pushing away from where he was leant on the desk and moved around so he could actually sit at it, effectively dismissing Isaac, who was already at the door by the time the teacher called his name again, "Isaac-"

"Mm?" Isaac was caught a little off guard, and his reaction was made up of surprise more than anything else.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

An automatic nod, a courteous thank you- and Isaac was out in the hall, trying as desperately as he could to forget that that had just happened, hoping to every God that that was all his teacher knew about his personal life, and nothing about the interesting art that swirled over his body like the milky way, leaving white hot scars and horrific streaks of purple and red wherever it went.

Memories swarmed over him, arresting his mind into a state of horror and paralysis, trying to distract him with images of his mother, her kind face so blurry in his weakened mind. His brother appeared too, and suddenly he was back laughing with Camden on Fourth of July weekend, squirting him with some water gun he found in the back of the disused garden shed after a footballing incident sent him in to fetch the dying toy, and the discovery was made. It physically pained Isaac's chest to think about that summer, the idyllic haze that was the time period before everything went to shit, when his Dad still cooked every evening and their Mom would put on strict video game bans at all opportunities, forcing them outside during the day to go and 'play', the two parents quite content to spend the entire day inside, chatting and cleaning the house together, constantly bickering over whose turn it was to do the hoovering.

But Isaac had to press on; he'd mourned these times and he'd moved on, as much as it killed him to say it. Now, he was on his way to the library, certain now that he didn't have enough time to tell Scott all he would have liked, but he could at least send him his phone number.

He'd been crafting this plan for the past week - they'd sent so many messages to each other now that it was almost unbelievable that they hadn't known each other a few months prior; their messages were essay-length, debating issues and telling stupid stories and trying to have all the conversations they would have had and shared if they knew each other in person.

And so this was Isaac's solution, and a rather ingenious one; for the essay-length debate messages, they could use the website, but for the little ones asking about one another's days, they could simply text, and this way Isaac could keep up to date a little more, hopefully meaning that their horrific silence wouldn't happen again.

In total, it took Isaac eight minutes to log in, get the internet up, send the message, log out, and get out of the library, but in addition to the five minutes his English teacher had taken, he was noticeably late; his father would definitely know that something had been going on.

If he said he'd been speaking to his teacher for all that time, there would definitely be alarm bells - his father would presume that they weren't only discussing homework, and might take it out on Isaac by even more pressure and disconnection from the outside world.

At least now Isaac could talk to Scott without worry that they wouldn't speak for weeks- they could text almost constantly and Isaac could just say that it was a school friend; his Dad would never have to know.

That is, if Scott was to take the opportunity he had been offered.

\--

Almost reluctantly, Scott refreshed his forum feed, sighing heavily when no new statuses appeared. He was still so confused about what Allison said, and he'd barely slept the night before because he was so panicked about it- his entire weekend had been revolving around this horrific mess and so he'd barely done any homework, his Monday getting off to a terrible start with double chemistry. But he continued, miserably refreshing, knowing that if Isaac was going to send a message, now would be the prime time.

Then, something new happened.

**1 NEW MESSAGE**

At first, Scott refused to allow himself to get excited, pushing all thoughts of Isaac out of his brain, but he soon abandoned that theory as the webpage loaded and he saw who it was from.

**TheOtherOne2.**

At first it didn't look like much - hell, it was just a few words and a long number - but after a moment, the words unscrambled and the number made sense.

_A phone number._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg im a horrible human being im sorry -- i've just started my a levels (junior year for americans) and i have so much more work than i thought i would so this chapter has taken foreeever (although next chap should be quicker as it's a new style im trying out and i've already written a lot of it, so yay!!) again, i'm so so sorry for the two month (shit thats a long time) wait!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> p.s. shoutout to sparknotes.com for the bit the english teacher says about lady macbeth


	5. first text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentally scolding himself, Isaac forced himself to concentrate on his biology homework, even though it was the last thing he wanted to think about, although possibly the most pressing. After two hours of sporadic concentration, he finally managed to finish the evaluation, but he didn't dare text Scott first; what if he was still busy - gaming, homework-ing, eating dinner- no, he'd wait for Scott to text him first.
> 
> (Scott would text him first.)
> 
> (Right?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to the fanfic u forgot existed

(i dont know if this is helpful or condescending but ah well here we are)

text speak/slang dictionary:   
gd = good  
ikr = i know right  
s2g = swear to god  
tbh = to be honest  
m.i.a = missing in action (military term)  
uve = you have  
ngl = not gonna lie  
id(r)k = i dont (really) know  
tho = though  
srsly = seriously  
m8 = mate (h8 = hate)  
hw = homework  
ofc = of course  
bio = biology  
fave = favourite  
omg = oh my god  
wbu = what (a)bout you  
v = very  
smth = something  
dw = don't worry  
w/e = weekend or whatever  
btw = by the way  
af = as fuck  
n00b = idiot  
nvm = never mind

 

16:12 unknown  
hi is this isaac??  


16:13 unknown  
yes!! is this scott?!?  


16:15 scott  
YES!!!!! YAAAAY!!!! gd idea  
man - i never thought about  
texting haha  


16:17 isaac  
ikr it only just hit me!! i've  
been super busy this past  
week and haven't had a chance  
to go to the library and then  
i thought hey u know what???  
we have phones for a reason  
so lets use them haha  


16:18  
gosh dang we can be thick  
sometimes;) where have u  
been tho man - i missed ur  
sorry ass on the forums!!  


16:23  
well i had a bunch of exams  
and i s2g the homework load  
quadrupled this week so i've  
just been totally snowed under  
i'm sorry!!!! i'm back now tho :)  
i got into a ridiculous situation  
with some late coursework but  
that's now out of the way - yay!!  
how's your week been without  
me then??  


16:24  
apart from ur absence it's not  
been that bad!! i went out with  
allison and her friends on friday  
but that all went so badly so we  
haven't really spoken?? it was  
kind of horrific tbh  


16:27  
uh oh :O the week i was busy  
just HAD to be the week you  
go and do things!!!!  


16:31  
sorry! :( next time something  
exciting happens, i'll make sure  
ur not m.i.a first!! deal??  


16:33  
deal. now, updates on the allison  
thing: r u now dating/just friends/  
begrudging acquaintances?? this  
must be the biggest drama on the  
forums since stiles' lydia martin  
fiasco!  


16:36  
i guess we're still friends but i  
kind of ruined it?? she asked me  
if she thought our evening was  
a date and i totally screwed it up  
haha (dude we don't joke about  
the lydia martin fiasco. i have to  
/live/ the lydia martin fiasco.)  


16:39  
aww that sucks man :/ maybe u  
could try again??? it cant have  
been too bad if she's still speaking  
to u!! oh god yeah u do don't u -  
how's that going anyway??? i hadn't  
heard much moping recently from  
stiles' direction so i presumed it was  
over ????  


16:42  
now uve mentioned it im not too  
sure how it's going? he hasnt rlly  
ranted about her in a month or so  
\- maybe he's drastically ill???  


16:45  
wouldn't be surprised tbh. report  
back on the subject when you  
know more! about to go into the  
house now so it might be a while  
before i text again :)  


16:47  
ahaa okay! detective scott is  
on a mission ;) aw ok i'll text  
u in a bit then x

 

Isaac took a deep breath and slid his phone into the side pocket of his bag, trying to ignore the mini fixation on the tiny little kiss at the end of the text his mind seemed to have acquired, and pushed forward into the house.

Dark windows were a promising sign, but they were never a guarantee - his father could by lying in wait, bent crooked in his position on the sofa, ready to spring at Isaac when he walked through the door.

 

17:01  
i'm back!! dad was asleep so  
didn't have to talk to him :) what  
do you think stiles could be up to  
anyway?? he doesn't seem like  
a particularly secretive person tbh  


17:04  
yay! nah he's really not - there  
are SO MANY THINGS i wish  
he never told me. oh well.  


17:08  
so he's probs up to something  
either horrifically amazing or  
amazingly horrific??  


17:10  
i literally do not want to know  
which i s2g  


17:11  
maybe he murdered someone. or  
got a secret lover. or discovered  
that werewolves really exist.  
17:13  
ngl i kind of want it to be the last one  


17:15  
same bro werewolves would  
be frickin awesome  
17:17  
idk tho he has stopped coming  
over as often??? he just says his  
dad wants him at the station and  
kinda buggers off. hmm.

17:19  
im 1000% invested in this now!!  
he better be doing something  
interesting, else i'm gonna be  
seriously disappointed  


17:23  
i'll keep u updated - r u  
going on the game tonight?  


17:26  
nah - don't have a computer at  
home and the school library shuts  
at five :/ did u finish the jewel  
quest yet??  


17:28  
nope :( that's why i was  
wondering! have u finished  
it??  


17:32  
yup!! u need to keep the armour  
of the lost guild rather than give it  
to the ancestors (which i presume  
u did bcs ur too nice for ur own good)  
and then one of u needs to wear it  
when you fight the demon at the end  
bcs it can resist its magic!!!  


17:34  
damn it stiles was right  
17:36  
he said we should keep the armour  
DAMN IT NOW IM GOING TO HAVE  
TO ADMIT HE WAS RIGHT  
17:37  
he gets so smug when he's right  
it's infuriating  


17:39  
ahaa i can imagine!! i remember he  
was the first to kill the diamond pack  
of vampires a while back, and he  
could NOT stop talking about it. kudos  
to him, but srsly. calm down m8.  


17:41  
man, he was so proud of that. even  
i remember that and i wasn't in the  
game at that point!! ugh i've got some  
american history hw i should probs get  
on with before i start gaming - i'll text u  
later at some point??  


17:45  
ofc!! got some bio i should probs  
be doing :( byeeeee

 

Isaac shuffled in his seat, sighing as he pulled out his work from his rucksack, reluctantly locking his phone and tapping his feet on the ground, humming a little in an attempt to reduct the excited feeling rising in his chest. It didn't work.

His biology work practically crawled by, his mind constantly wandering and jumping about, thinking about Scott being nearby, somewhere in the same freaking _state_ as him, doing his homework at the exact same time, wondering what he was thinking about.

_Maybe he's thinking about me?_

Mentally scolding himself, Isaac forced himself to concentrate on his biology homework, even though it was the last thing he wanted to think about, although possibly the most pressing. After two hours of sporadic concentration, he finally managed to finish the evaluation, but he didn't dare text Scott first; what if he was still busy - gaming, homework-ing, eating dinner- no, he'd wait for Scott to text him first.

(Scott would text him first.)

(Right?)

Trying not to make a noise, Isaac drew back from his desk, listening to hear if his father was still in the house, and eventually deciding that he was out or sleeping, and it was safe to attempt to get dinner.

After 30 minutes of extensive dinner-making, the blond finally gave in and checked his phone, but nothing. It had been almost three hours since he'd heard from his gaming partner, and it was unnerving him; had he been too bold with the phone thing? Scott had wanted to text him, right? Maybe he just felt like he had to now that Isaac had sent his number - oh God what if Scott wasn't comfortable with it? Had Isaac pressured him into it? That's not what he wanted at all.

After only 45 minutes of this panicky, self-doubting torture, and pacing up and down his room, Isaac heard the familiar ping of his text tone and almost cried in relief, grappling for it hurriedly and almost dropping it in his haste, unlocking the phone and scanning the message before he could even blink.

21:36  
ew that took way too long god i h8  
history  


21:37  
not as bad as bio!! shitting reports :/  


21:39  
bio's better than history omg!!!  
whats your fave school subject?  


21:42  
english by a looong shot!! wbu???  
(if u say chemistry im disowning u as  
a friend)  


21:45  
god no not chemistry!! my teacher is  
the biggest asshole haha i could never  
like chemistry. i guess it'd probably be  
gym but im not really a v academic  
person so?? :)  


21:47  
ah i see :) how's lacrosse going, then??  
u guys off the bench yet?? ;)  


21:49  
i wish! we're never going to be off  
the bench EVER  


21:51  
aw scott i believe in u, u get on that field!  
if u do, uve gotta send me a selfie or smth  
to commemorate the moment  


22:01  
dw if i ever get on the field i'll be sending  
everyone i know live footage of every  
second i'm on that field  
22:03  
it probs wouldnt b v exciting footage tho  
bcs for me and stiles to get on the field  
almost every other player on our team is  
probably injured or presumed dead  
22:04  
god can u imagine stiles and me up  
against all those sports people uh oh  
on 2nd thoughts id better not film it  


22:07  
that does sound kind of horrific tbh maybe  
ur safest where u r on the bench???  


22:09  
mm probs but its still not as exciting as  
being out on the field with everyone else :/  


22:12  
well scott if it was up to me u'd be on that  
field in a heartbeat but im afraid it's not :(  


22:15  
aw thanks man (even thought uve never  
seen me play but lets pretend u have)  
got any plans for this w/e?? livin it up?? ;)  


22:19  
i hope that that winky face does not convey  
sarcasm mr idontknowyourlastname bcs i  
can tell u i might b living it up to a very high  
standard and u wouldn't know  


22:23  
well im very very sorry (my last name  
is mccall btw i figure we're at that stage  
now where we can do last names) -  
what do you have planned then??  


22:36  
...technically nothing  
but that's beSIDE THE POINT  
(i'm isaac lahey) :)  


22:38  
'beside the point' what r u 80 years old  


22:40  
maybe i am 80 years old u know my name  
not my story  
22:43  
i just realised that in most other friendships  
that's ok but in our case kinda not bcs we  
don't technically know each other so i'd like  
to formally take that back pls  


22:45  
take-backsies accepted (altho we really  
should exchange a selfie or smth so we  
know we're talking to real people)  


22:47  
ugh but scott im ugly af u dont wanna  
see my face  


22:49  
ahh okay fine i'll go first u scaredy-cat  
22:52  
[PICTURE MESSAGE]  


22:55  
omg is that u and stiles haha  
wait wtf are u wearing  


22:57  
animal onesies bcs we're very uncool  
haha - ur turn??  


22:59  
ugh fine im sorry in advance  
23:05  
omg sorry that took ages i couldnt get  
a good selfie  
23:06  
[PICTURE MESSAGE]  


23:06  
aww arent u cute ;)  


23:08  
shut up u moron else i'll smack u thru  
the power of text  


23:09  
i'd like to see u try  


23:12  
ugh idiot  


23:14  
u know u luv me xxx

 

Fingers hovering over the keys for a few moments, Isaac had to pause; was this what he thought it was? Was Scott being _flirty_?

The picture Scott had sent him was just the right element of dorkiness and seriousness - serious enough that he looked good but dorky enough so that he didn't look like he was trying too hard. Isaac had not achieved that perfect balance.

23:17  
ahaa u wish  


23:21  
wow rude  


23:23  
hang on i need to take a quick shower  
i'll be back in 10 or so??  


23:24  
ahh okay!!! :)

A little shakily, Isaac put down the phone, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths.

This was real - he was actually texting Scott.

How had they managed to keep a conversation going this long - what topic should they discuss next? Should he pick one? Or should he wait for Scott to decide on a new thread? Was this being paranoid - should he just leave it up to fate?

 _Too many questions_.

Isaac forced himself to get up from his bed and head into the shower, not comforted in the slightest by the weak water droplets and the awkward angle he had to lean at to wet his hair properly, but still unable to stop smiling every time his mind wandered even slightly near Scott.

His smooth skin, dorky little dimples and crazily curled hair made Isaac want to force himself into the picture, just so he could see him for real; to hear and see and feel everything he could about Scott.

Almost without realising it, he began to touch himself, still thinking about Scott, and almost startling himself with his own guttural moan. Whilst he tried to divert his thoughts for a while, the thing that pushed him over the edge was the mental image of Scott doing the same thing, trying to quieten his moans with one hand splayed on the shower wall and the other moving at an almost desperate pace.

After he came down from his high, Isaac bit his lip and tried not to outwardly freak out.

_It was natural to think about people like that, right? Scott just happens to be attractive, and I am a teenage boy riddled with hormones. Fine. Perfectly natural._

__

Fuck.

Isaac stepped out of the shower a little shakily, trying not to think too hard about what he just did, and instead gathered up the clothes scattered around the bathroom and wrapped a towel around his waist. After quickly walking down the hallway and deliberately avoiding the living room, successfully dodging a conversation with his father, he made it to his room unscathed, checking his phone instantly and praying that there would be a new message.

There wasn't.

It was now way past midnight, the moon high in sky and peeking through Isaac's curtains as he found an old jumper and long pyjama pants; dressing warm was partly the reason, but also if he got a rude awakening from his father the next morning, he wanted a good chunk of coverage and protection.

Staring blankly at his phone with a feeling of faint regret, Isaac tried to plug it in and just leave it, but he couldn't, his eyes wide open and his body electrified with feeling and brain swimming with wisps of worries. Mostly, however, his brain was wondering what Scott was doing at that precise time, picturing him gaming with a concentrated expression on those gentle features, his eyebrows leaning forward and his warm eyes following the action on the computer intensely, deft fingers tapping the keys and navigating the touchpad of his laptop.

In reality, Scott was laying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling in faint despair.

Had it really taken him this long to figure out he liked Isaac?

Sighing heavily, he turned onto his side and stared at his computer instead, phone clenched tightly in his hand, the temptation to check it again almost overwhelming.

But he needed to stop; he needed to take a break from Isaac and breathe the sharp, burning air of the real world, else he was going to drown in the blond-haired boy; his selfie was so dumb and unassuming and natural (he was basically in pyjamas for crying out loud) that Scott felt bad for sending him such a posed one. Even with his morals firmly set into him and his mother's constant reminders, Scott had never wanted to please someone and make them happy more; never wanted to lay himself out for the taking and let himself be lapped up and coddled.

Ah, damn it.

Neither boy got much sleep that night, too consumed with thinking about the other and yet too nervous to text first. After a certain stage, Isaac reached an almost idyllic state of consciousness; so out of touch with reality and yet so painfully awake. Craving sleep and rest didn't help at all in slightest, the pair totally besotted with their own imaginations.

Until dawn broke.

\--

6:02  
morning ^^ xx  


6:05  
morning to you too! sorry i didn't reply  
last night i was SUPER tired zzZ  


6:07  
that's cool man no problem:)) u @  
school today??  


6:09  
yup:( got double chemistry first and im  
pretty sure im gonna commit homicide  
with all those acids and bunsen burners  
hanging around :/ wbu??  


6:10  
yh same - that rlly sucks man :/  
would u get away with texting me in  
the lesson?? i could tell some chem  
jokes and make it less horrific??!  


6:13  
if u can find any that r decent then go 4  
it but that's probs a real challenge tbh  


6:15  
challenge accepted! what time does ur  
lesson start??  


6:20  
about an hour - quarter past 7ish  


6:21  
i will be prepped and ready. over n out  


6:23  
alright corporal i'll c u then

 

Isaac sighed at the regret of halting communication Scott and slid his phone into his pocket, having made it out of the house without waking his father. He was working a shift this evening as well - four till ten - and he just didn't know if he could handle not texting Scott for that long. Sure, he could send a text here and there, but he had a quota to fill, and if he didn't reach it, then it was his own time he'd have to make it up out of. Also, his father seemingly hated Wednesdays - loathed them for some reason unbeknownst to Isaac; he would always get really het up over the tiniest things and try and pin them all on Isaac, much to his horror, and later pain.

Getting past his father in the morning was one of the hardest things, as he was least likely to be drunk, and most likely to be hungover and semi-pissed. As Isaac moved through the lounge that morning and into the kitchen, he tried to be as quiet as possible, but with no luck - his father was slumped on the kitchen table, curled around a cup of coffee and blinking rapidly. He looked up as Isaac came in, rolling his eyes when he noticed him.

"I don't bite."

Attempting to smile, Isaac shuffled past the fridge and headed towards the front door, pulling on his shoes from the hallway.

"What, no breakfast?" His Dad called through in a semi-serious tone, although it was clear he was trying to make light of it, "You're at the yard all night tonight. You'll get hungry."

"I'll pick something up at school." Isaac mumbled out, opening the front door pointedly and calling behind him, "Bye."

There was no response, and Isaac decided he wanted to keep it that way. Slamming the front door and unchaining his bike, he pedalled quickly down the road towards the high school, knowing it was a ten minute cycle, and he wasn't exactly early, so didn't have any time to stop.

Halfway there, however, he felt a buzz in his pocket from his phone.

_For God's sake Isaac - you can hang on five minutes to talk to him. Get a grip._

It was the longest five minutes of Isaac's life.

Scrambling to lock his bike to the rack, Isaac's fumbling fingers couldn't quite get it done up, and it took him a good few seconds longer than usual - precious seconds that were being wasted. Finally, finally, he managed to work the lock, whipping the phone out of his pocket and unlocking the screen in mere moments.

 

6:32  
what did the oxygen particle say to  
the argon atom?  
6:33  
the name's bond - covalent bond  
6:34  
that was so bad i'm sorry  


6:39  
amazing  
6:40  
that's a serious dad joke right there  


6:41  
never listen to atoms.  
they make up everything.  
6:53  
what is the show cesium and iodine  
love watching together?  
CSI  
7:02  
if silver surfer and iron man teamed  
up they'd be alloys  


7:14  
scott these are literally the worst  
jokes i've ever heard omg  


7:16  
but ur having a better day as a result  
therefore it is worth it  


7:17  
i guess:) how's school on ur end??  


7:17  
sucking majorly bcs im in english  
7:18  
the new teacher is kind of crazy it's  
a bit worrying  


7:19  
ugh lucky  
7:20  
because of the lesson not the crazy  
teacher obvs  


7:21  
i was gonna say u sadistic arse  


7:22  
u know me always lookin out for ur  
health n such  


7:22  
wow thanks u so considerate  


7:23  
what makes this teacher so crazy  
then??  


7:24  
she's just very enthusiastic i guess?  
stiles likes her bcs she likes the fact  
he knows a whole bunch of random  
crap about useless things which he  
uses in his essays all the time  


7:25  
that doesn't sound so bad - she could  
be a whole lot worse!  


7:26  
yh i guess so :) i better put my phone  
away and start concentrating tbh bcs  
im already failing english - i'll talk to  
u l8r?  


7:27  
okay :) x  


7:28  
:) xxxx  


7:29  
xxxxxxxx  


7:30  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx  


7:31  
scott mccall do not start this u will  
not win  


7:32  
oh it's ON lahey  
7:35  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  


7:37  
u r so dead

Isaac began to type out his multitude of 'x's, but he had to stop, thanks to his chemistry teacher, who decided that now was a really great time for a pop quiz, and watched them all like a hawk. By the time the test was over (and also the lesson), Isaac found another text on his phone from Scott, causing him to roll his eyes.

 

7:45  
didn't know u scared so easy, lahey  


8:12  
fuck off mccall. fuck right off.  
8:15  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
8:16  
u mad bro  


8:20  
riGHT

This hilarity ensued for the remainder of the day, getting to the stage where Scott had to drop out, thanks to his phone crashing every time he tried to open their message feed. Of course, Isaac didn't let this win pass lightly, sending several celebratory texts before reigning in his cockiness.

 

14:45  
all hail king isaac  


14:46  
yh king of loserville  


14:49  
rood  


14:51  
xxxxxxx  


14:53  
don't start this again u moron  
14:54  
so how was ur day?? aside from the  
crushing defeat obvs  


14:56  
haha. it was alright actually - spoke to  
allison a bit which was a minor disaster  
but i guess i kind of told her we're never  
gonna be a thing?? which was the goal  
14:59  
i mean i just don't see us in that way so  
i guess it was a gd thing rlly  


15:01  
shame i was shipping u 2 so hard  
15:01  
scallison???  


15:02  
ahaa yh i guess it would b scallison  
huh that's kind of a crap name haha  


15:03  
aw no it's not that bad i mean stiles  
and lydia's name sounds like a std  
either way u say it - stydia/lydes  


15:04  
omfg v tru haha i'll b sure to tell him  
that when i see him  


15:05  
i'm sure he'll be so pleased ;)  


15:07  
he's still being weird about her tho  


15:10  
in what way??  


15:15  
like he's not staring after her in the  
corridors anymore or talking about  
her 24/7 or drooling over her outfits  
daily idrk what's going on  


15:18  
no detective scott today? :(  


15:20  
i tried pestering him for a while earlier  
but he got kinda pissed so i figured i  
should stop  


15:21  
is he going 'to the station' tonight?  


15:23  
idk i think so yh - y??  


15:26  
FOLLOW HIM  


15:28  
you are such a bad influence  
15:28  
ok fine i'll go now  


15:29  
AWW YISSS  


15:31  
okay he's getting in his car i'm  
getting on my bike i'll text u soon  


15:32  
hell yesss talk to ya laterrrrr

 

Throwing his backpack over his shoulder and pushing his phone deep inside his pocket, Scott clambered onto the bike, trying to ignore his growing sense of unease. He managed to follow Stiles to the intersection near the station before suspicion was aroused; instead of turning left onto the road, where he would normally swerve jauntily into the station car park, he turned right.

Scott was a few hundred metres behind Stiles (obviously - he didn't want to get caught), but he had to speed up a little bit to keep a track of him on the horizon; he only made it a few more streets before Stiles stopped abruptly and threw himself out of the jeep in typical fashion, stumbling up some apartment steps haphazardly.

Apartment steps that Scott had never seen before.

Sure, he felt he knew Beacon Hills well, and he'd probably driven past at some point in his life, but this was still somewhere he was totally uncomfortable being. As he watched, Stiles leant on the buzzer lazily, before letting a snarky comment pass through his lips when the video supposedly clicked on, the door opening within seconds of being knocked on. This meant that it wasn't a random visit; Stiles clearly knew the person on the other side of the door, and this was not a surprise arrival. Was this where he'd been going all these evenings?

Scott felt weirdly betrayed: they never kept secrets, and this seemed like a reasonably big one.

15:47  
ok something weird happened  


15:49  
i knew it  
15:49  
he's a secret agent isn't he  


15:50  
he appears to be going around to a  
stranger's house and i have no idea  
who it is  
15:52  
i mean it could be a school thing but he  
would have spoken to them at school  
right??  


15:53  
idk man  


15:54  
i'm a bit scared tbh like stiles and i never  
keep this sort of thing from each other  
15:57  
maybe something's wrong  


15:59  
i'm sure he's fine scott! :) maybe  
ask him about it tomorrow??  


16:02  
yeah i guess  


16:03  
[PICTURE MESSAGE]  
yo i found this pic of a cute deer  
making friends with a puppy  


16:05  
omg that's the cutest thing ever i cANT  


16:07  
[PICTURE MESSAGE]  
omg a dog and an orANG-UTAN  


16:08  
ISAAC STOP IM TRYING TO DRIVE  
IM GOING TO DIE OF CUTENESS  


16:10  
omfg stop texting me and driving at  
the same time u n00b YOU WILL DIE  
OF ACTUAL DEATH  


16:12  
omg calm down ur such a worrier  


16:13  
woah role reversal i thought u were  
the one who was supposed to worry  


16:15  
yh haha sorry i'm currently worrying @  
someone else atm i'll get back to u l8r  


16:17  
i'm sure stiles is fine scott :)) try asking  
him on the game later or smth xx

16:18  
yh maybe xx

 

Isaac sighed deeply as he put his phone back in his pocket and continued to file papers, knowing that his work wasn't going to do itself. His 'job' was varied as fuck; he could be filing papers, ringing round suppliers, digging graves, visiting bereaved families, cleaning the office - the list was endless. The worst by far was visiting the families though; Isaac wasn't a naturally empathetic person, and he didn't have a very open face, so people were usually thought he was being sarcastic or rude when he tried to comfort them. It was torture, but his father hated doing it even more than him, so Isaac made regular rounds of the neighbourhood with a list of all the people who'd recently used their service to 'check up' on them. It was a nice idea, and one that would be probably be really valuable if they carried it through properly, but they didn't.

 _Scott would be good at it._ Isaac thought, absent-mindedly, before shaking his head and trying to concentrate on his messy filing. Keeping things neat wasn't really in his nature either.

His jobs took him 7 hours to complete.

(This included a good half an hour of daydreaming about Scott in the middle of vacuuming the office floor, but Isaac likes to pretend this didn't happen.)

17:30  
yo can i ask u something??  
17:50  
isaac??  
18:12  
wait nvm  
19:04  
where d'ya go :(  


23:24  
sorry i was working! no phones  
allowed :( did u want to ask me  
something??  


23:26  
ah no problem :) nah it's cool i  
figured it out on my own x

23:28  
u sure??  


23:33  
yep :) xx how was work?

 

Scott was lying with his fists crumpled into his sheets, biting his lip so hard he could almost taste blood; he'd been about to ask Isaac if he'd ever date him. It was stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , but Scott was feeling hopeful.

He wasn't feeling hopeful anymore.

He'd been texting Stiles on and off all evening, and Stiles had made no mention of this person's house he was at - Scott had even tried to make hints and lay traps, but Stiles had skirted them expertly, probably not even realising he was doing it.

It was highly frustrating.

He'd tried not to think about how much he liked Isaac, but tonight it had hit him like a sack of bricks; it was stupid, but he was constantly thinking about what Isaac was doing, or whether he'd finished his homework or why he hadn't replied to his text instantly. Isaac was taking over Scott's brain, his life becoming an addiction, and it was starting to kill Scott a little bit inside.

Turning the phone over and over in his outstretched hand, Scott forced himself to think about something else, before finally pulling up Safari on his phone and opening the gaming forums. He'd played a bit tonight, but the group let him know that they weren't going to need him for a few days, as the next mission didn't require a medic, (it was something about a giant lizard with paralysing venom plaguing the kingdom, but they had the antidote already bought) so he was off the hook for a while. It meant that all he could do on the game was sit in the 'town' and talk to others, and so he had logged off fairly quick and proceeded to get some homework done and worry about Stiles, as he had no idea whether Stiles had been included on that mission or not.

Logging in at lightning speed, the brown-eyed boy began to reread some of his old messages with Isaac, smiling to himself at some of the ridiculous stories they'd told each other and the extensive use of smiley faces, and marvelling how quick their relationship had evolved, both through messages and now through the means of texts.

He was so far gone.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yas i know it's been many months since the last update i'm sorry :( (a levels are much harder than i anticipated...) i won't make any promises, as i know i probs won,t stick to them, but hopefully it shouldn't be a wait as long as this.....maybe
> 
> (also my dedication this evening is off the charts; am currently on a brief holiday and i've spent the whole evening formatting the texts (align left and align right code for EVERY TEXT) in raw html whilst using the slowest wifi known to man on an ipad. hope that makes up for the shitty timings a bit??)


	6. first phone call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words stuck in Isaac's throat - or more in his fingertips - as he read the black marks on the screen, his eyes involuntarily filling with tears and the meaning really sinking in. How did Scott make those three little words sound so meaningful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (slides out from underneath a blanket with my a-level revision)  
> (*whispers* sorry for all the anglicisms)

Dappled light streamed through Isaac's curtains reluctantly, reminding him that the day was Saturday and he needed to get up; fingers of sunshine tugged at his eyelids persistently, eventually dragging them open by putting the threat of his father in the back of his mind.

As much as Isaac would have liked to lie in properly, it was already 8:30am, and his father would be up in a short amount of time: if he found Isaac still lying in bed he would definitely have something to say about it. (Well, less to say, more to do.) It only took seconds after this realisation for Isaac to throw his legs out of the duvet and push himself into an upright position.

On instinct, he reached for his phone and opened the lock screen, scrolling quickly through to his messages, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the little +1 icon.

scott 8:03  
good morning :) xxx

 

It had been a few weeks since they'd started texting, and - in Isaac's opinion - the flirting had increased tenfold. They'd been joking about dating the other, hinting at things that regular friends probably wouldn't hint at, teasing each other almost constantly- if it wasn't involving him, Isaac would be sickened. But it did involve him, therefore he was 100% behind it.

8:32 isaac  
morning :) someone's up early xx

8:33  
just so excited to talk to you, clearly xx

8:34  
aw u cutie x any plans for this w/e??

8:35  
u kno it ;) xx well mainly to find out what  
the hell stiles is up to tbh it's driving me  
insane

8:36  
ooh keep me posted that sounds hella  
interesting

8:37  
hella? calm down u sound about 12

8:38  
uh oh we have a hella hater over here

8:39  
i can't help it being a stupid word

8:41  
you are going to have to face srs  
consequences for this

8:43  
oh yeah?? like what? ;) x

 

Isaac tucked his phone into his jumper pocket, unable to keep his smile off his face and feeling stupidly warm and fuzzy inside. As he pulled on some socks and stumbled into the bathroom, grateful not to see his father, he tried not to imagine Scott all tucked up in bed, tapping out replies on his phone and smirking to himself at his replies.

Definitely not what he was thinking about. For sure.

After adding Scott on Snapchat, he now knew some really creepy things about his new friend, such as the layout of Scott's room and the colour of the bedsheets, the handwriting of his chemistry teacher and the display on the back wall of his homeroom. It was information that Scott had willingly presented to him, but it was still a bit strange. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but it helped Isaac to picture Scott in hundreds of different situations, albeit a little guiltily.

Carefully walking through to the living room, checking for his father, Isaac made it through and into the kitchen before he could breathe again, now knowing for sure that his father was tucked up in bed, and not waiting to pounce in another room. Yawning, Isaac flicked the coffee maker on, crossing his fingers in the hope that the noise of the machine wouldn't wake his father, trying to ignore the fact that his muscles had tensed considerably, the tired slump in his shoulders giving into fear.

There was another reason to be fearful too; Spring Break had just begun, and that meant that Isaac had two weeks at home with his father, and he had his grades from recent end-of-term tests. The brown envelope was sat on the shiny wooden dining table, it's cardboard-pale brown contrasting with the rich mahogany of the table, warning Isaac about it's contents.

His father hadn't been home last night, and Isaac was pretty sure that his father would want to be the first to open them. It was one of the worst things about the end of term, although the random full days at home were pretty horrific.

As a general rule, his father had two days off a week, and they weren't always Saturday and Sunday (not including the days when he worked night shifts instead of days).

Basically, Isaac needed to get out of the house as much as possible.

He could easily spend every day at the library on the game, or doing his holiday homework, or cycling around the countryside out of town on the days when it was nice enough- but that didn't feel like enough. He wanted to see Scott.

Impossible - not so soon in their friendship anyway. They'd worked out that they were about 4 hours away from each other by car, a bit less on the train, but they'd never spoken about actually meeting. It would be weird; seeing Scott walking towards him with his little dimples and his megawatt smile, in the flesh and real.

As soon as the machine finished grinding away at it's work, Isaac dragged a mug from the cupboard and spooned some cheap instant coffee in, pouring the water carefully and trying hard not to spill it on himself. The coffee was weak, but it was all Isaac really needed.

Getting dressed took less than a minute, phone fully charged and backpack still full of yesterday's school supplies, and Isaac was out the door, making sure he had a $10 note in his jeans for lunch and a key for getting back in, before he closed the door behind him as quietly as possible. Pulling his phone back out of his pocket again, he opened Snapchat and waited for the camera to load, starting his walk to the library on autopilot, the mild weather predicting the trip to be quite a pleasant one.

Isaac took a picture of him being 'blinded' by the sun, captioning it with the classic "the liGHT IT BURNS", sending it to the only person on his contact list and waiting eagerly for a response, getting one almost instantly.

It was of Scott in bed, all tucked up, as Isaac had predicted, with a fake-confused expression, with the caption "dude wtf it's not even 9am".

After sending back a condescending "the early bird catches the worm my friend", the blond-haired boy bobbed into the 7/11 on the corner of the road, picking up a sandwich, drink and chocolate bar, planning to spend the entire day holed up in the library, switching between playing the game, doing homework and snapchatting Scott.

Instead, he spent the majority of the day texting and snapchatting Scott, getting few snarky looks from the librarian every now and again but ignoring him pointedly, interrupted only at 4pm when Isaac got a text from Scott that made his heart stop in his chest.

16:03  
haha v tru ;) can i call u real quick??

 

Breath caught in his throat, Isaac's fingers froze on the keypad, unsure of how to respond, but knowing that he really really wanted to say yes. What would they talk about? Why does he want to call now? Maybe it's important. Maybe it's just about the game. Maybe it's just Stiles having sprung out of nowhere, having stole Scott's phone, and is now taking the piss.

16:05  
ofc just gimme five mins to get out the  
library :)) any particular reason or just  
to chat??

16:07  
can't get past one of the missions on  
the game (im p sure u've done it - the  
mermaid lagoon one??)

16:08  
yah i've done that one!! i'll walkthru it,  
just need to pack up ma stuff :)

16:10  
okey dokey - lemme know when ur  
gd to go!!

 

Hands shaking a little, Isaac managed to log off his computer without much difficulty, but he dropped several things whilst he tried to pack his bag up, drawing more attention to himself than he would have liked, but he was so nervous that he almost didn't care. They'd sent each other animated snapchats before, but never normally of themselves, and they were usually only a few seconds long, whereas this would be a proper, long conversation with the pair both in full participation. Isaac's nerves had spiked considerably.

As he stumbled out of the library into the dim sunlight and suburban street, he pulled out his phone again, taking a deep breath and unlocking the screen, typing the words "i'm ready" with a real sense of apprehension.

After he sent this, he realised he was going to need somewhere to sit down, and crossed the road haphazardly, ducking under a branch and into the tiny stretch of grass that counted as a 'park', occupied by a few benches and a little duck pond, surrounded by trees, most in bloom thanks to the springtime.

Just after he spotted a bench, the phone began to ring, and Isaac answered it on his way, half-tripping over an abandoned branch in his attempt to hit the answer button without looking where he was walking.

"Oh _shi_ \- Hello?"

"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just tripped." Isaac instantly cringed at the tone of his voice, all high-pitched and squeaky and annoying. "Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Scott's voice was full of cheer, and he allowed himself a laugh at the end, soothing Isaac almost instantly as he listened to the almost-familiar accent, "Alright then, noob, how do I get past this damn merman?"

"Hang on, lemme think-" Isaac bit his lip as he sat down on the bench opposite the pond, allowing his backpack to slide down to the floor, "Have you got the Golden Shield from the Cracking Mountain?"

"Ah, no. Do I need it?" Scott readjusted the phone on his shoulder, and Isaac could hear a faint tapping and clicking of keyboard keys in the background, reassuring him that this was a mission worth completing.

"Technically you can do it without it, but it's a gazillion times harder."

"Shoot. Whereabouts is it in the mountain?"

Their conversation continued for almost an hour, their voices gently overlapping each other at points, both of them getting louder when Scott went into face the boss of the level, Isaac getting almost more stressed than Scott, as he couldn't see the screen, let alone control the character.

After they managed to power through the level, they sat and just chatted about nothing for a while, both of them clearly a bit unsure about being allowed free reign in conversation topics, although they appeared to be carrying it through quite well.

Scott's voice was so deep and rich and comforting that Isaac almost forgot that this was their first spoken conversation.

"No, no!" Isaac could hear the sounds of tinny clashing metal through the phone, and he just knew that Scott forgot what he had told him, although he couldn't help but laugh a little, "The second path - go back to the statue and turn right."

"You didn't say that be- _fore_." Scott dragged the word out like a child, but they both knew he was grinning. 

"I did, you just clearly weren't listening."

"Liar."

"Shut up and get moving, McCall."

"Wow, so mean."

Isaac didn't dignify that with a response, but his smile was spread so wide on his face it almost ached, his knees tucked up under his chin and his free hand playing with his laces, backpack splayed, forgotten, beside him.

"Look, I better get back soon - it's getting kind of dark."

"You're not home?" Scott sounded a tad shocked on the other end of the phone, "I can manage this next bit alone, I'm sure, get yo' ass home."

"I'll text you." Isaac said, a little resigned that Scott had accepted his excuse so quickly, desperate to talk to him a little more. "Make sure you haven't game over-ed by the time I get back, alright?"

"Yes, mom." Scott mimicked, but he was clearly joking, emphasised by a small chuckle transferred through the tinny speakers. "Alright, see you in a bit. Bye."

"Bye."

Isaac pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a few seconds, waiting for Scott to hang up so that he wouldn't feel that sense of responsibility, his heart beating slightly faster at the little icon with Scott's face on, his little dimples standing out a mile.

Fuck.

Everything was just so exciting and exhilarating and just fucking unbelievable. Did he really just have over an hour of conversation with the person he'd been obsessing over for months? It was surreal, and Isaac was practically flying as he walked home, the streaky pastel sky allowing the sun to set behind him as his heart strained with all the metallic excitement, solid and smooth, threatening to break loose and shoot through Isaac's veins like white-hot wildfire.

Even as he turned the corner of his street, he couldn't allow his body to refuse him the magnificent high it was giving him, his phone suddenly beeping.

18:09  
yooo u homo??

 

This was definitely considered a weird text, but Isaac barely even thought about it before he replied. Didn't think. He was on a high of Scott, his brain floating way above the clouds and his heart fit to bursting with excitement. Didn't think didn't think didn't think.

18:09  
uh im hella homo - why??

18:09  
*HOME sorry haha

18:10  
OH

18:10  
omg

Fingers shaking, Isaac managed to fumble out a quick reply, stopping just outside his house and feeling the sudden bite of night on the back of his neck, the sun's glare an angry warning as he tried desperately to play it off as something a little more suave.

18:13  
well i think i just seriously overshared  
oh dear

 

Stomach tightening, Isaac couldn't help but allow the worry and nerves overpower his system, the idea of finally confessing it to someone after years of suppression and for it to come out in such a fucked up mistake-

It made Isaac want to inflict pain.

He tightened his fists and pushed his hands deep into his pocket, his phone forced into the straining material as he stomped up the front steps, his embarrassment almost overshadowing his fear in the hot, wet stains blooming in his stomach.

As his key clicked into the lock, he remembered the pale brown envelope sat on the kitchen table and tried not to groan out loud, despair dragging his shoulders into an even deeper slump and spreading a layer of dread over his emotions like butter on bread. The house was dark when he pushed the door open, and Isaac couldn't hear the television on, which usually meant disaster. As he stepped forward, he heard the telltale signs of his father in the kitchen, and knew that it was now or never; either he'd gotten the grades, or he hadn't.

Slowly walking into the kitchen, Isaac dared not meet his father's eye as he slipped into the chair at the opposite end of the table, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, the tiny pink smiles taunting him with their conformity, his entire body tensed for the worse reaction possible.

However, there was no instant shouting, or intimidating smacking of the table - his father was just sat there, with his hands folded neatly in front of him and his gaze firmly set on the table. Isaac dreaded the moment that the silence was broken but his father didn't seem intensely angry or agitated, for the first time in years of reports. Maybe Isaac had pulled his grades up by just enough to get by? Maybe.

Thirty seconds ticked by.

"You still need to pull your Chemistry grade up." Isaac's father finally said, before he pushed his chair back, the harsh screech on the laminate flooring causing Isaac to jump in his seat, his fear levels rocketing and his breathing quickening-

But his father just turned on his heels and slunk into the main room, leaving the envelope on the desk, the paper still half-stuck inside it, luring Isaac in with it's proximity. Cautiously, he leant across the table and dragged the piece of paper out of the tempting brown casing, ignoring the brittle noise it made as it rustled its way across the table, the small black figures hurting his eyes in their boldness.

**English - A**  
**Pre-Calc - B**  
**Trigonometry - A**  
**Geometry - A**  
**Chemistry - B**  
**Biology - A**  
**Physics - A**  
**French - A**  
**Art - B**  
**History - A**

Isaac could have cried as his eyes slid down the list of subjects, taking in what was the best report card he had ever received and wanting to sing from the rooftops as a result. Yeah, his Chemistry grade wasn't the best it could be, and his Biology teacher was probably being a bit generous, but all in all, it was an almost unbelievable result.

Weirdly, the first thing he wanted to do was tell Scott.

Stuffing the piece of paper back in the envelope before pulling out his phone, Isaac made it to his bedroom without incident, his hands shaking after all of the built up tension was released, throwing the words out to Scott without really thinking about the order, totally forgetting his earlier texting mishap.

18:42  
omg my report card so well this  
semester im think im gonna cry

18:42  
OMG WELL DONE!! knew u could do it :)

Isaac flopped back onto his bed and grinned to himself, unable to contain the ridiculous levels of excitement, holding his breath as he texted him back, the words tumbling out of his fingers and splaying themselves on the screen almost before Isaac even had a chance to order them.

18:44  
my chemistry grade ws the worst  
(obvs) but everythinh else was an  
a? (xcept art but idc abt art) (also  
pre calc but fuck pre calc)

18:45  
that's so great!!! :D u'll be off to  
harvard with those grades haha

18:46  
lmao i wish

18:47  
still it could have been worse

18:48  
proud of you :)

 

Words stuck in Isaac's throat - or more in his fingertips - as he read the black marks on the screen, his eyes involuntarily filling with tears and the meaning really sinking in. How did Scott make those three little words sound so meaningful?

He managed a 'thank you' with a green heart emoji before he had to put the phone down, the smile on his face threatening to split it in half with it's enthusiasm, and his fingers curling into fists to try and diffuse some of the lightning running through his veins. Everything was finally coming together.

Isaac thought back over all of the sleepless nights that he spent finishing assignments and the number of times he'd cried through sheer frustration at the complexity of chemistry and all its stupid rules; he thought about the percentage of coffee in his bloodstream he'd lived off for the past few months; the number of times he'd texted Scott at four am to ask him to google something really random for him, and the number of times Scott had complied as fast as he possibly could, willing to help Isaac in any way he could.

Had it been worth it? It certainly felt like it.

Staring up at his ceiling, Isaac noted all the cracks and crevices in the peeling white paint, reminiscing about a time when he'd painted his room with Camden, noting all the paint splatters where they'd gotten to the corners and hadn't quite mastered the art of 'neatness', allowing their brushes to flick haphazardly, or the paint collected in bobbles and slowly drip as it dried. They'd been covered in pale blue paint from head to toe, and both had had to take several baths before it came out of their hair properly, convincing their mother that it was safe for them to stand on stepladders the next day and twist their bodies at incredibly unnatural angles to paint the ceiling magnolia, regretting it almost as soon as they started but holding out to the end and finishing it the same day, Isaac sleeping on Camden's floor so as not to suffocate from the paint fumes.

(Camden was 12, Isaac was 7)

It had been so long since he'd seen his brother, or even a picture, that his face had begun to blur in Isaac's memory; it was torture, knowing that he could still vividly remember his father's face, the chemistry teacher, that kid that beat him up when he was thirteen, but he couldn't remember his own brother. He even remembered the image of his mother on her deathbed, her soft face smiling sadly as she put on her final brave face for her sons, the premature wrinkles and greying hair ageing her twenty years.

But every time he thought about his brother, the lines blurred and the features smudged into someone unrecognisable.

Sometimes Isaac liked to think about what his brother would have been like in the army. He wondered if he didn't like following the orders, or if he made any friends in his regiment, or if he ever told any of the other guys about him. Isaac wondered if Camden ever regretted leaving, whether he knew what was going to happen when he left, but went anyway. Whether he was already taking the shit for everything that went wrong for their father, or whether it was entirely a coincidence that his leaving caused the abuse.

It made him a little exhausted just thinking about, that tiny part of him still hoping that they might get a letter in the mail one day that said they'd found him, alive and well. It was maddening.

Instead of dwelling on it, Isaac just picked up his phone.

19:40  
god im so tired is it too early to  
go to bed

19:41  
it is a bit it's not even eight!!  
(unless u really need it ofc)

19:43  
yh i might hold out til nine (or  
take a nap)

19:45  
if u take a nap u could accidentally  
sleep until next wednesday uve  
gotta be careful with naps

19:46  
speaking from experience? ;)

19:48  
..........maybe

19:50  
m8 uve gotta set an alarm what  
an amateur

19:51  
i clearly need to up my napping  
game

19:52  
indeed

19:53  
so got any exciting plans for ur spring  
break?? u nd stiles doing anything?

19:55  
nah we're so boring - we were  
thinking about a road trip but then  
we couldn't really be bothered :/  
wbu??

19:57  
same i don't really have anyone i  
wanna hang out with so it's gonna  
be studying and gaming all holiday

19:58  
i feel u - how much have u got  
done??

19:59  
studywise or gamewise ??

20:01  
gamewise :)

20:02  
i've almost finished the red diamond  
quest but i can't get past the boss :/  
you've got to shoot arrows but at this  
really specific chink in his armour and  
it's exhausting and i always run out  
of arrows ugh

20:02  
did u defeat the mountain man from  
earlier??

20:04  
indeed! took me like an hour  
tho haha

20:05  
better late than never ;)

20:05  
rude

20:05  
r u free to call for a bit??  
(totally cool if you don't want to)  
  


Biting his lip, Isaac tuned his ear to the wavelength of his father, not being able to hear any indicator of his movements, but he was still unsure whether it would be safe or not.

He had three main options; stay on his bed and risk his father coming in and interrogating him; getting in the closet and having slightly more privacy but also risking an interrogation from his father, or going to sit on the little roof bit outside his window that joined his and Camden's room and possibly avoid an interrogation from his father.

There was only really one option.

Slowly opening the window, ignoring the painful squeak it made, Isaac shimmied out of the gap and sitting on the slightly sloped section of roof, one metre by two, and curled up into a ball, back against the wall and legs tucked under his chin.

20:16  
call away :)

It took a few minutes to get a response from Scott, and when he finally did call, he sounded a tiny bit flustered.

"Hey."

He sounded a bit breathless, like he'd just run up a flight of stairs at top speed with asthma - and just as Isaac was about ask if he was alright - he realised that was probably exactly what had just happened.

"Hey." He tried not to smile at the sound of Scott's voice, but it was too difficult. "What's up?"

"Nothing much." Scott sounded a bit hesitant, the next words out of his mouth a little garbled, confirming his nerves. "Just wanted to hear your voice again."

It took Isaac a moment to respond, closing his eyes in between and biting his lip, the feelings inside him tossing and turning like waves.

He was so excited to speak to Scott again - to hear again his lilting voice - that he almost let himself slip out of reality for a second, imagining a day where they might address each other with dumb pet names and whisper stupid things about love and stars and eternity. A day when each other's name would be a prayer upon their lips.

For now, he had to focus, and remember that he had no indication that Scott was into him - or even dudes - at this point.

"Dork." He took a deep breath and tried to move on, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that was saying that this was a result of the text he sent earlier. "Anything dramatic happened since we last spoke?"

"Apart from the fact that Sabrina backstabbed Abby-Lee on Teen Mom, not much." Scott flopped onto his bed on the other end of the phone, his grin and blushing cheeks invisible from Isaac, but he still felt a little ashamed, unsure if Isaac's 'dork' was affectionate or a brush-off, hoping that it was the former and not the latter. "Although it was really dramatic, I have to say."

"Uh oh. What did she do? She didn't bitch about her kid, did she?!"

"She said her baby was ugly."

"No."

"Yep. It was really dramatic."

"What a bitch."

"Well, she was only saying that because Abby-Lee said she was a bad mom. Because she is."

There was a fake gasp from the other end of the phone, and Scott almost scrambled to a sitting position, so ready for the argument he knew that they were about to have.

"Sabrina is _not_ a bad mom, watch your mouth."

"Erm, she left her kid alone for an hour whilst she went to the shops. That is a _really_ bad mom."

"Yeah, but she thought her mom was in the house with her. She would never have done it otherwise."

"Pfft." Scott rolled his eyes, even though he knew that Isaac couldn't see him. "Yeah right. She just said that for the cameras."

"Scott, I'm not going to have our first argument over Teen Mom, for God's sake."

"What do you want our first argument about?" Scott picked at the duvet as he spoke, unaware that his mother was listening at the door, convinced that he wasn't talking to Stiles but wondering who else it would be, concerned about his sudden departure from dinner. "Something fancier, like Breaking Bad?"

"At least Breaking Bad wouldn't come with a bitch like Abby-Lee."

"Hey, Abby-Lee did _nothing wrong_ -"

"Scott?" Accompanied with a hesitant knock, Melissa's voice carried through the wood of the door, waiting for her son's confirmation before she pushed it forwards, her face gracing a small smile.

"Hold on a sec," Scott mumbled through the phone speaker before pressing the phone into his shoulder, cutting off the beginning of Isaac's speech, "Yeah?"

"Just wanted to say that I'm off to the night shift at the hospital," She leant into the room a little bit and lowered her voice, "Who're you talking to? You left dinner quick."

"Sorry." Scott mimicked her low tone, "It's Isaac. He thinks Sabrina's better than Abby-Lee from Teen Mom so I'm having to set him straight."

"Oh, right." Melissa quickly smoothed her features into an expression that did not reveal her curiosity, forcing herself to smile back at her grinning son, taking note of the unwavering happiness on his features and the speed at which he was jiggling his knee, normally indicating nerves. "I'll be back at stupid 'o' clock, so don't wait up."

"Okey dokey." Scott stood to give his mother a kiss on the cheek before settling back down on the bed again, waiting until the door was firmly closed before he released the phone from his shoulder and leant it against his ear again. "Sorry, Mom's just heading off for the night shift."

"Ah. Did she sort out that old lady in the end?"

Scott's sudden connection between Isaac's words and the memory sent him into a mini fit of giggles, as he tried to explain the situation in a bit more detail.

"Oh my _God_ , right- so they got the bar of soap out, but she told my mom all the different ways it could have happened and made her write them down. So now in her file there's a whole sheet of paper just about different ways the soap could have gotten up there? And one of the ways is that she could have ' _sat on it'_."

"Oh my God-"

Isaac was trying so hard to muffle his laughter that he was actually shaking, unable to keep his body under control enough to keep his noises quiet, although he presumed his father had already consumed several beers by now, and would be oblivious to any noise he made. It was a little before nine, so the reruns of some shitty comedy would be on television, and his father would have it on loud enough that he couldn't hear anything else, but he still wanted to be careful.

After the pair had finally gotten their laughter under control (several attempts later), Isaac managed to keep himself together for long enough to ask Scott about his Chemistry exam on Friday, eliciting a small stream of grumbling.

"I just don't get it at all, y'know? Like, I've been really trying this semester and I just can't get a hang of it. I would ask the teacher to help me, but he's such an ass I don't really want to."

"Chemistry teachers are the worst." Isaac agreed, wishing there was a way he could help Scott, even in the slightest. "What about Lacrosse? You guys off the bench yet?"

A small snort travelled the miles between them in a single second.

"Yeah, right, okay. Though the other day I actually caught every shot Stiles sent at me when we practised. But he might have been going easy on me."

"Nah, I'm sure you were great. Why would Stiles have gone easy on you, anyway? It's not like him to be merciful."

"I dunno. Maybe he really has got some secret partner, and his constant thinking about them distracted him."

"So you never found out this big secret then?"

Sighing heavily, Scott lay back down on the bed, allowing the duvet to tug him into a labyrinth of comfort to make up for the dissatisfying response he was about to give.

"Not even a little bit. He's not budged an inch."

"Have you asked him about it?"

"Kind of. I don't want him to think I'm meddling with his life, so I haven't asked outrightly, but I've kind of hinted at it to try and subtly tell him I know. So far, he hasn't really picked up on it."

Every bone in Isaac's body ached to hug away all of the pain in Scott's voice, to get rid of that quiet self-doubt that he knew was creeping underneath the surface of the speech, but he could only hug his own knees and try to send his thoughts telepathically through the power of his mind, unfortunately not succeeding.

"Maybe you should just ask?" Isaac suggested, quietly, slightly apprehensively, "From what I know of Stiles, he's a sly bugger, and he might only answer if you ask him the right questions."

"Mm." Scott tried not to think about all the times that Stiles had come to him totally unprovoked, asking him advice and telling him about all the shit going on in his life, desperate for an ounce of comfort and reassurance, and knowing he could get it from his best friend. "I guess."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Scott couldn't resist a small smile.

"Well, my whole life would end, clearly."

"Watch it, I'm supposed to be the melodramatic one."

There was silence for a few moments as the pair thought about the situation, a little unsure how to continue in regards to how to approach Stiles, but knowing that it would have to be done at some point.

"Scott," Isaac's voice was suddenly serious, trying to convey his sincerity without being creepy, his knuckles gently rubbing against the tiles on the bit of roof he was sat on, "Just don't lose him, okay?"

"I won't." Heart swelling slightly at the care in Isaac's voice, Scott tried to suppress his tears a little bit, before forcing himself to change the subject to something lighter, knowing that he wouldn't be able to keep up his relaxed façade for much longer otherwise. "Anyway, how has the start of your Spring Break been?"

Their chatting continued long after the sun set, talking about the game, their horrible teachers, the news that another American state was trying to claim that they had a right to discriminate in employment, Teen Mom, and various other nonsensical topics. One of the most dramatic moments in the evening was, however, when Isaac slid about a bit on the roof, causing a minor panic on Scott's end.

"Alright, I guess-" The blond reshuffled a little as he spoke, almost losing his grip and gasping a little as a result, but managing to maintain his stance, a little more wary now, "Shit, sorry, almost fell for a second, but I'm back."

"Fell off what? Your bed?" Scott sounded so adorably confused that Isaac almost didn't want to say anything.

"Nah, I'm on a bit of the roof outside, so Dad doesn't overhear me."

"The roof?!" Scott's panic levels audibly rose, "Isaac, please tell me you're joking, and you aren't actually on the god damn-"

"It's not the actual roof!" Isaac answered hurriedly, "It's just this little roof bit that's on top of the kitchen, where there's a gap between my room and my brother's. Even if I do slip, it's only onto the grassy bit at the back of my house."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

After Scott took a moment to consider this option and calm down a bit, he came out with something that stiffened Isaac's bones and drained his heart of happiness in a millisecond.

"I didn't know you had a brother."

Isaac's breath audibly caught in his throat, and Scott felt that he'd definitely overstepped a line - even over the phone - but couldn't decide whether or not to move past it and suggest something else or to let Isaac answer in his own time.

"I, uh," Isaac tried not to stumble over his words, but it was difficult, "He's not, uh, been around, for a while."

Amazingly, what with Scott being Scott, he understood; he heard the words that Isaac didn't say.

"I'm sorry."

"S'alright, it was ages ago."

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't still hurt."

Memories came back of Scott's messages about his father, and how he'd just left with no explanation when Scott was about 8, his mother refusing to speak of him or his departure again unless she'd had several drinks. Messages about how he'd cried for weeks, until Stiles had convinced him that they could share his dad instead, and how that was just as good.

All he could think of as a response was;

"Yeah."

But again, he knew that Scott understood him.

\--

As Isaac clambered back through the window, the sunrise shining on his back as he did, he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sunshine. When he checked his clock, it was almost quarter past five, meaning he and Scott had spoken for almost eight hours.

The most pressing matter, however, was that Isaac was freezing, and he really _really_ needed to pee. Whilst 8 hours sounded cute in terms of talking, Isaac's bladder was about to die, and he needed to get to the bathroom without waking his father, which was a task that he wasn't really prepared to take on, but had to anyway.

Slowly, he turned on the light to his bedroom, figuring that he could probably see the hallway well enough with the light from there without having to draw full attention to himself. Fumbling a little, he managed to get to the bathroom with minimum noise, hoping desperately that his father would still be asleep.

The bright light of the bathroom burned his eyes, but he didn't have time to worry about it before he was done, and coming back out of the bathroom again, the darkness of the hallway contrasting with the bathroom so dramatically that he couldn't see for a good few seconds after he pressed the switch again.

"Isaac?"

It was safe to say that Isaac jumped at least half a foot when he heard his name called from the dark by his father, his heartbeat rocketing into an astronomical state, and he was unable to call it down once he heard the follow up question.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I, uh, sorry, I thought you were asleep, I didn't mean-"

"Have you been chatting up some girl all this time?"

Surprisingly, this question was less aggressive and more curious, although it wasn't without it's level of faint hostility. Isaac almost couldn't get his mouth around his words as his eyes finally adjusted to the light and he saw his father leaning out of his door, no glasses, his fingers firmly curled around the doorframe.

"No." It came out entirely unconvincing, and as more of a question, causing Isaac to instantly wince, making him look even guiltier.

"I'm surprised anyone will take you." Silence settled for a few seconds, before his father grunted again, ducking back into his room, before grumbling something that sounded like, "Well, at least someone has their shit together."

Shaking himself out of his shock, Isaac quickly pulled himself back down the corridor and towards his room, shutting the door as swiftly as he could without making a too much noise, his father's words running circles around his head. Was he actually proud of Isaac for once?

But what popped up in his mind at that thought was the three little words from his phone earlier.

The words from someone far more important.

_proud of you :)_

He couldn't help but smile, looking at the unmade bed with the phone sat so innocently on its covers, the feeling of warmth spreading through him again, and he could almost feel it bubbling in his bones.

Crawling into bed as the sun crept into the sky, Isaac finally started to feel like his life meant something.

\--

"Scott?"

It was a little after six in the morning, and Melissa McCall had just wandered back into the house from the end of a brutal shift to find her son sat at the kitchen table, happily munching on cereal and humming to himself.

"Oh, hey Mom!" Scott half-scrambled out of his seat in his haste to hand his mother the coffee he'd brewed for her and the buttered toast cut into two triangles, "Thought you'd be hungry, so-"

"Uh," Mrs McCall blinked in surprise, but took the food gratefully, and sat down opposite her son at the breakfast table a little cautiously. It wasn't that her son wasn't loving and helpful, it was more that he was up at six am during vacation, merrily eating his breakfast and looking out of the window like this was an everyday occurrence. That was the real miracle. "Thanks."

A moment of silence passed.

"So, um, how did your chat with Isaac go?"

"Really good!" Scott replied, enthusiastically, beaming from ear to ear, "We had a lot to talk about."

"Awesome." Crunching into her toast, Melissa decided to ignore the fact that it was a little too dark on the underside and the fact that the butter was seriously uneven, and instead focused on her happy, loving son, "What time did you get to sleep?"

"Uh," Scott mumbled something through his orange juice, but repeated it a moment later when his mother quirked an eyebrow at him to communicate her lack of understanding, "Two, maybe three."

"Jesus Scott, you mustn't have gotten much sleep."

He tried best he could, but Scott McCall wasn't a particularly good liar, especially from his own mother, even when he kept his head down at his bowl and focused on catching some stray flakes.

"You didn't go to sleep at all, did you?"

This caused the raise of a pair of guilty brown eyes, meeting a pair of knowing ones in a connection that was totally new to them both, but it felt good. It felt comfortable.

"I did the same thing when I first met your father."

Lungs suddenly emptied, Scott had to focus on breathing for a moment, unable to believe that his mother was seriously addressing the topic of his father without having had several drinks. (Then again, she'd just had an 8 hour shift, so it might be very close in terms of sleep deprivation and need for an aspirin or two.)

"Only obviously, when I was a teenager, back in the stone age, we had to actually communicate face to face, rather than texting or skyping."

"The horror." Scott smiled as he looked up, apprehensively, but Melissa was looking back at her coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug and her teeth nibbling at the edge of her lip, her mask of confidence slipping to show her true exhaustion for a few seconds. As Scott reached out his hand to put it into hers, she looked up and slid her façade back on, squeezing her son's hand as it was offered, and swallowing the rest of her coffee quickly.

"I'd better go get some sleep." She smiled, before remembering something else and giving her son a semi-stern look, "And you should too."

"Yes, Mom." He rolled his eyes jokingly, but he stood with her and cleared the plates away with her, leaving them to wash up later in the vague hope that they'd disappear after they had their sleep, but knowing they'd have to be dealt with sooner or later. Better later.

They climbed the stairs separately, Scott stopping to wipe down the kitchen table whilst his mother used the bathroom, and then following her upstairs a few minutes later, his eyes finally starting to droop with the tiredness. Sliding between the cool sheets had never felt so good as the sun came up that morning, and Scott relished in the way the bed relaxed his muscles in a way they'd never done before. However, must before he let sleep take him into the depths of unconsciousness, there was a quiet knock and-

"Scott?"

"Mm?"

"I'm glad Isaac makes you happy."

Scott sat up a little out of his cocoon of comfort, ready to confront his mother about what she just said, but - once he looked her in the eye - he couldn't do it. Instead, he just smiled back, the combination of fatigue and his slight high on Isaac making the whole thing feel like a bit of a dream.

"Night, Mom."

"Night."

Sleep had never felt so good to Scott as it did in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (slides back under my revision blanket cave)  
> ((you didn't see anything i am 100% revising))


	7. disagreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does he think it’s weird that I’m gay?
> 
> Isaac couldn’t help it - the thought went around and around his brain until he was dizzy, despite the frozen position he was stood in. Soon, he was plugging the phone back in to charge, ignoring the tinny beep that indicated it was already full, and moved out of the room and into the hall, determined not to look back into the room, and not succeeding. 
> 
> Why would he talk to me if he didn't like the fact I was gay? Maybe he's just mocking me.
> 
> As hard as he tried to convince himself that Scott would never do that, insecurities started to creep in, whispering and muttering that it was all a plot from the forums, that it was a joke that Stiles was playing because he thought it would be funny, except now it's gone too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DONT KNOW! I DONT KNOW! I DONT KNOW!
> 
> im going to try and explain at the bottom

Isaac next woke at 2pm, feeling like he'd been dragged under by weights and freed of his burdens simultaneously. Two overwhelming feelings were surging in his gut, battling for dominance before ecstasy finally won, it's shining core masking the depths of severe anxiety for a few moments, treating Isaac to his few sleepy moments of happiness before reality set in.

Words dwelled on Isaac's brain, tempting him, tantalising with their comforting sincerity. Scott's soft voice was something totally new to Isaac, the careful warmth enriching his deprived sense of companionship. The random stories and heartfelt inquiries made Isaac feel like he was starting something special, but there was also an underlying fear that Isaac refused to acknowledge, unsure as to what it would mean for the continuation of his friendship.

As Isaac rolled out of bed, he picked up his phone, unplugging it cautiously and pressing the centre button, hoping beyond hope that there would be a +1 icon on his home screen.

There was nothing.

The ecstasy faded a little, despite Isaac's desperate desire for it to stay, and he couldn't help but let the disappointment crush him.

Anxiety took over after a few seconds, and every doubt that had been lurking in the back of his mind for the past 24 hours suddenly flooded out, one particular fear gripping his heart and freezing it until it reached an excruciating level.

_Does he think it’s weird that I’m gay?_

Isaac couldn’t help it - the thought went around and around his brain until he was dizzy, despite the frozen position he was stood in. Soon, he was plugging the phone back in to charge, ignoring the tinny beep that indicated it was already full, and moved out of the room and into the hall, determined not to look back into the room, and not succeeding.

_Why would he talk to me if he didn't like the fact I was gay? Maybe he's just mocking me._

As hard as he tried to convince himself that Scott would never do that, insecurities started to creep in, whispering and muttering that it was all a plot from the forums, that it was a joke that Stiles was playing because he thought it would be funny, except now it's gone too far.

_nonononononononono_

Isaac fought his way out of his doubts and forced himself to take a shower, concentrating on every other aspect of his life apart from Scott, which was unfortunately quite difficult, thanks to the overwhelming influence Scott appeared to have earned on his existence. He spent a long time thinking about random animals and his school work as a result, refusing to picture a bed-headed Scott with a sleepy smile and his dimples.

After only ten minutes, he had to hop out of the shower again, unable to forget the face so deeply etched into his mind. His worry and anxiety in regards to the situation was making him fall back into his old way of thinking, repressing and blaming himself for every little thing he'd ever done.

_Dad's right: I'm disgusting and a freak of nature. I deserve to be dead._

Isaac didn't really have a lot else to do that day except maybe his holiday homework, so he forced himself to get dressed and get out of the house, packing his bag methodologically and trying desperately to think of something other than the mantra going around and around in his head.

_I'm disgusting and a freak of nature. I deserve to be dead._

He had never explicitly told his dad about his 'homosexual tendencies', but he figured it was pretty obvious. When he was younger, he was never interested in getting a girlfriend, often talking about boys instead (although he was careful to talk about them as friends). Once the hitting started, it was always accompanied by slurs such as "fag" or "poof", the insults always seeming to hit right where Isaac felt weakest.

This feeling of overwhelm and despair wasn't new to Isaac, but he wasn't used to it coming from a friend. Normally, he felt this after an evening with his father, the emotional pain smothered by the scatter of physical injuries he would acquire, pushing the dull ache in his stomach to the back of his mind with the harsh stings of fresh cuts.

As Isaac put his bag over his shoulder and walked through the house, however, he was stopped on the stairs, and didn't have a chance to get out to the library. His father was stood, waiting, at the bottom of the stairs, trying to make it look off-hand and suave but failing, thanks to the filthy glare he was wearing.

"Finally decided to get up, did we?"

Breath caught in Isaac's throat, fingers of ice creeping up his body as he recognised the glare that his father was donning.

"Had a nice time chatting to your little friend?"

Smartly, Isaac opted to say nothing, unsure as to what his father wanted him to say. It was a smart move, because it didn't give his father any ammunition, but it also meant that his father didn't have any response to play off, which forced him to narrow his eyes a little, but he didn't move.

"I'm surprised anyone will take you, to be honest." He said, a little _too_ calmly for Isaac's liking, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the door that lead to- the basement.

Both of them knew what was going to happen, but Isaac clearly wanted to put it off for as long as possible, fiddling with the straps on his backpack nervously and licking his lips, staring at the front door in a desperate attempt to try and think of an escape plan, but one quick look at his father made him realise there was no hope.

"They must be _really_ desperate to want to talk to you." He continued, ignoring the mini-exchange they had just gone through and following his last train of thought. "I mean, what fucking loser is going to want to speak to you for more than two minutes? Nobody."

Isaac knew he was only trying to get a reaction out of him, so he refused to answer, but the grip on his backpack tightened, the thoughts in his head from earlier rising up again, warming his frozen brain with murky flame.

Unfortunately, this only pleased Isaac's father more.

"You're so fucking boring anyway, what do you talk about? You don't have friends. You're not that good at school. Bet the person you were chatting away to is a fucking idiot too."

"He's not an idiot." Isaac spat out, the heat of the words burning his lips as they left, regretting it as soon as he said it, but unable to take it back once the words were out in the open air. The expression on his father's face was nothing less than what he expected: disgust, dislike, and downright smugness at getting what he wanted.

A cold inferno of dread raged in Isaac's stomach. If the words had felt hot on his lips, the words he had left unsaid were burning him from the inside out.

"You disgust me."

Swallowing hard, Isaac fidgeted on the stairs, realising that his father was waiting for him to walk down the stairs towards him, but every fibre in his body was ready to _run_ , down the stairs and out the door, and to the safe haven of the library.

A few seconds passed where neither of them spoke, waiting for the other to make a move, before Isaac finally mumbled out a sentence, avoiding his father's eye and hoping that it would be the end.

"I think I'm gonna go to the library to get some homework done."

Silence crippled Isaac's nerves, every part of him feeling hypersensitive and electrified, so much so that when his father let out a short laugh, Isaac jumped and almost lost his footing on the stairs.

"Fine, go ahead."

The challenge in his voice was painful, and Isaac tried very hard to brush it off as he fake-casually walked down the stairs, trying to ignore the pain he felt in his heart, getting all the way to the front door before he a punch on the side of his head knocked him totally off-balance, the cold metal of the handle tantalising him with its cruel whispers of freedom as he felt it hit his elbow.

_"Fucking faggot."_

-

"Stiles, if you get this message, _please_ call me back."

Scott hung up and threw the phone onto the bed with significant force, the panic really starting to rise now. He send Isaac a good morning text at about 1pm, and it was now 8pm, and there was no response. It was only at about four that he started to get a bit nervous, but Isaac definitely should have texted him back by now.

Was Scott coming off too strong? Did he overwhelm Isaac with the long talk?

The _'im hella homo'_ text preyed on his mind, sneaking itself to the foreground every so often and whispering suggestions in Scott's willing ear.

If Isaac was into guys, maybe they could actually happen as a couple?

But Isaac clearly didn't want to talk to him.

Scott couldn't help but pace the room, his nerves getting the better of him for a few moments. If Stiles had received his message, he should be over in less than ten minutes, but you could never tell with him - if he was at the station it would take longer, and if he was at this...other house... Scott had no idea how long it would take him.

He felt that he kind of had to prepare for the worst.

Supposedly, Melissa was coming home just after 8, unless she covered someone else's shift afterwards, and she was probably the most reliable source of help, after Stiles. It wasn't ideal, as the whole 'Isaac' thing was a bit shady anyway, especially after last night (or that morning?), but Scott could never keep secrets from his Mom.

It took ten minutes for her to get home,  and by that time Scott was practically hopping around the kitchen, desperate for something to distract him from his taunting thoughts. Already, he'd rearranged the jars in the cupboard, washed up his lunch plates and organised their array of magazines on the coffee table in the lounge, and he was now sat at the kitchen table and tapping his foot incessantly, eyes on the door, waiting for the telltale sound of the key in the lock.

When he finally heard it, he almost sprang from his chair, moving towards the door at an accelerated pace, his anxious eyes meeting Melissa's as soon as the door swung open.

"Scott?" She seemed almost shocked to see him, but her evident concern was the overwhelming emotion on her face, quickly shutting the door behind her, "What's wrong?"

"Mom," Scott started, his nerves almost getting the better of him, "I texted Isaac at, like, one, and he still hasn't replied, and I know he's not doing anything today, and he would have texted me if something had come up."

Mrs McCall was clearly partially relieved, thankful that this was the topic of choice, and not that her son had found a dead body or something, but it still concerned her that he was worried about it.

"Do you think he's okay?"

At this point, they were still stood next to the door, so Scott moved into the living room area, knowing his mother would follow, and sat himself down in an armchair.

"I honestly don't know." Scott replied, fidgeting slightly, "I mean, he never talks about his parents."

"Do you think something's going on there?" She asked, perching on the sofa and subtly stretching her legs a little to relieve the aching of an 8 hour shift.

"I dunno," Scott was visibly nervous, biting his lip and fidgeting a little in his chair, unconsciously mimicking his mother's movements. "I figured he just didn't have a great relationship with them, but then I think he'd probably complain about them, y'know? I mean, his brother died a couple of years back, so that must've been really hard, but I don't know anything about his parents, apart from his Dad's strict about when he comes home at night."

"Do you think they've split up?" Melissa asked, reaching out to put her hand over Scott's in a sign of support; she could see how much this meant to her son, and it broke her heart slightly to see him so distressed. "That might be why he doesn't talk about them much, maybe it makes him uncomfortable?"

"Maybe." Nodding slightly, this idea seemed to appeal to Scott more than any of the others that he had floating around his head. "Yeah, that might be it."

There was quiet for a few moments whilst Scott contemplated this idea, turning it over on his tongue like a hard candy.

"Still doesn't really explain where he's gone, though." He mumbled, eventually, after resigning himself to accepting this as truth. "I mean it's been like 7 hours now."

"Honey, I'm sure he'll be fine." Melissa smiled at him, encouragingly, her hand squeezing his, "If his Dad's strict, maybe he confiscated his phone for talking too late last night? That would be what I'd do, if, y'know, I was an actual _good_ parent."

Her small joke lifted his spirits - just a little, but a little was enough.

"You're a _great_ Mom," Scott squeezed her hand back, smiling again, the worry in his eyes dissipating slightly, but, as he opened his mouth again, they both heard a noise upstairs that sounded like something hitting the floor, followed by a stream of muffled swear words.

Melissa raised her eyebrows at her son, but his lack of concern confirmed her suspicions.

"Stiles?"

Scott tried - and failed - to hide his guilty smile, choosing to stand up quickly and kiss his Mom on the cheek, before moving swiftly towards the stairs and ignoring the roll of her eyes. His footsteps grew fainter as she listened, followed by an exclamatory greeting towards the boy on the bedroom floor, and the gentle click of the door shutting.

"Why the hell can't he just use the front door?" She asked herself, beyond exasperated.

Having a teenage son was exhausting.

-

"Are you alright?" Scott asked, having burst into the room rather suddenly, alarmed at the sight of reddish tinge in Stiles' cheeks and his position on the floor, where he was ruefully rubbing a to-be-bruised hip. After Stiles' gasped "I'm fine", Scott moved to help him up and guide him towards the bed, his eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

The yellow room was darkened, illuminated only by the bedside lamp in the corner, the haze of night starting to settle in. As they sat down on the bed, the springs creaked slightly, and the pair settled themselves into comfortable positions sat opposite each others, Scott with his legs crossed and Stiles with his legs draped over the opposite side of the bed.

"Do you need something? Has it bruised bad - would ice help?"

But Stiles simply waved him off, rolling his eyes at Scott's instinctive protective nature.

"I said I'm _fine_ , Scott, God." However, the real reason Stiles came over suddenly came back to him, and he turned to meet Scott's eye. "What's up with _you_ is the real question - what happened with Isaac?"

"I don't know." Scott mumbled, shifting his gaze to stare at his hands, which were twisted around themselves in his lap. "He hasn't texted me back."

A few moments of silence sat between them whilst Stiles waited for an elaboration, but he didn't get it.

"Is that it?"

Scott didn't reply immediately, and Stiles could see that he was thinking carefully about what to say, detangling the words on his tongue with difficulty and trying to think of the best way to summarise the situation without producing a soliloquy.

"Last night, we talked on the phone for ages, but before that he managed to accidentally tell me he was gay - we didn't talk about that on the phone. He ended up telling me his brother had died, and a bunch of other things, and we talked until, like, 5am, but when I texted him this afternoon, he didn't text back. Still hasn't."

"Do we need emergency ice cream and video games?"

"No, no, it's fine. I just- I don't know what to do."

\---

to: scott 23:52  
hey man, sorry - dad took my  
phone off me for staying up so  
late. turns out i woke him up :/  
hope you're doing okay!

Scott didn't like this text at all: it was formal, awkward, and totally unlike Isaac. Yes, he had gotten a response, but it wasn't at all what he wanted. Carefully letting his fingers tap out a response, hating himself for the uncertainty he felt about it, he composed a reply that he hoped would reestablish their casual and frequent texting.

to: isaac 00:09  
no problem dude! :D i'm doing  
good - you? got a bit of a  
headache from staying up so  
late, but i think i'll sleep it off  
tonight :) xxx

00:12  
im good too, but v tired - think  
i'll go to sleep now. night

The weight in Isaac's bones couldn't be fixed by a smiley face and a few kisses at the end of a text; his head felt worryingly heavy, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't concussed. Scrapes and bruises littered his skin for the first time in a little while, and the only thing he could feel beneath the wounds was an aching emptiness.

Sighing, he turned over in bed and plugged his phone in, not even waiting for Scott's response. His father had left twenty minutes ago for the graveyard, finishing up a bit of work that one of the other employees hadn't had the authority to finish, leaving the freezer unlocked, and the cupboards empty.

As a result, Isaac couldn't stop shivering, despite the fact it was April and about 90F outside. The freezer feel clambered into his bones and lingered for hours after he'd escaped, often leading to excessive jumper wearing in warmer months and random shivering.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Scott, it was just that he was convinced Scott didn't want to talk to him. Why the hell would he? Everything his Dad said was true: Isaac was a boring, fucked-up faggot with nothing to his name but a string of dead relatives behind him. This alone should make Scott want to run in the opposite direction, but if it didn't then Isaac was going to have to make him - it was doing Scott a service, really. Perhaps not one that he'd appreciate now, but it was better than the miserable alternative.

Exhaustion from being cramped and beaten laced its way into Isaac's soul, allowing him the luxury of closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep, the beckoning of a concussion being silenced for a few hours at least, despite the nagging danger Isaac knew he was supposed to be worried about.

to: stiles 00:15  
he texted me back

to: scott 00:16  
great!! what did he say??

00:18  
that he was tired and wanted  
to sleep

00:19  
he was kinda rude to me. i  
really think something's wrong.

00:22  
omg scott stop worrying he's fine  
he's probably just tired (LIKE ME)

00:24  
(sorry i didnt realise i was keeping  
u up) i just dont want him to think  
that i dont like him??

00:26  
im sure thats not what he thinks,  
scott. he'll be fine, i promise. now  
gO TO SLEEP.

00:28  
fiiine. night.

Scott couldn't help but feel a little annoyed with Stiles for his short responses, but maybe he was on the game, and just wanted a little peace.

Rolling over in his bed, he felt the moon shine through a chink in his curtains onto his face, and he couldn't help but think of Isaac, sleeping under the same moon, in his small blue room in the corner of the house. Scott knew that he slept next to the window thanks to frequent snapchats, and the idea that they were under the same moon in the same state made him feel slightly sad; surely, it couldn't be long before they met in person?

But what with Isaac's sudden change of heart, maybe it would be longer than they both imagined.

\--

Scott spent an entire day moping about and waiting for something to happen on his phone, but nothing did. This moping drew the attention of his mother, who was marathoning a crappy tv show downstairs and generally appreciating her morning off, whilst eating ice cream. This worrying display of self-neglect made her force him to come and watch with her until her shift, but he was left to lounge about listlessly in the afternoon, letting the day drag into night without a word from Isaac, and without hope.

By the next day, there were still no new texts on Scott's phone, except from one from Stiles saying he was coming over to have a Day Of Fun at 10am, no excuses. It was 9:30am when Scott received this, so he dragged himself out of bed and showered at a brisk pace, staring forlornly at the silent mobile when he came back into the room.

When Stiles arrived - seven minutes late, of course - he had to make two trips from the car to the house because he was so laden down with video games and films to watch. This was appreciated, and they spent three hours solid after this playing Black Ops, until lunch rolled around and they managed to throw together some sandwiches, snuffling out some crisps along the way. Sat amongst the multitude of games boxes on Scott's bedroom floor, they gossiped like old wives about the apparent break up between Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore.

"I heard she ended it," Stiles began, his words muffled by the sandwich he had crammed in his mouth. "People say it's because there's someone else."

"'People'? Who are 'people'?"

"Facebook."

"Oh."

They thought and chewed in silence for a few moments, before Scott asked a question.

"Who do 'they' say she's left him for?"

"No idea." Stiles took his last mouthful, before dusting his hands off and reaching for a packet of Cheetos. "But people are saying that she doesn't seem too crushed-"

He stopped, cocked his head as if considering something, then came back to reality and continued with his train of thought.

"-then again, when has she ever been crushed about anything? They say Jackson looked a bit miserable to start with, but he's gotten over it." He paused, threw a few crisps into his mouth, then finished with: "He deserves misery though, that soul-sucking dickhead."

"I wonder when he's gonna stop bragging and move to England with that rich Aunt of his."

It had been months since the bragging began - well, no-one was entirely sure exactly when it started - but one thing people agreed on was that Jackson either had to shut up about it, or move forward with his threats. Perhaps the breakup would be the straw that broke the camel's back, and Jackson would disappear to a foreign country with a fancy relative and never come back.

Or so they hoped.

"The sooner, the better, to be honest."

"Mm."

They munched in silence for a few moments before Stiles spoke again, tentatively, as if he knew the response already.

"No word from Isaac, then?"

"Nope."

The brunette contemplated this, before punching Scott lightly on the shoulder and shoving a handful more Cheetos in his mouth.

"He'll be alright, man. Maybe he's just having a rough couple of days?"

"Mm."

Quickly realising that reassurance wasn't what Scott needed, and a distraction was, Stiles moved on from lunch and brought the game back to the front of Scott's mind, forcing him to play a variety of games up until 7pm, when Mrs McCall came home.

When Scott heard the door click, he quickly paused the game and turned to Stiles.

"Just need to let her know you're here."

"'Kay." Stiles yawned and stretched absent-mindedly, his eyes following Scott out of the room and then looking around the room in his absence. Suddenly, his eyes zeroed in on something small and black lying on the bed, the screen dark, but tempting.

Stiles stood, grabbing the mobile before he even thought about it, and slid the lock screen open, effortlessly defeating Scott's entry password, and instantly clicking on the messages bar. 'Isaac' wasn't hard to find, as the only people Scott ever texted were his Mom, Stiles and the person in question. Upon investigation, the teenager found that Scott had sent a few soppy, hopeful texts in Isaac's direction, but to no avail.

Before he even thought the plan through, Stiles was clicking the contact button and pressing the little green phone icon, pressing the phone to his ear the second that the 'ringing' screen appeared. Impatiently, he waited for Isaac to pick up, not even caring if Scott was still with Melissa or not.

Ringing noises made their way to an impatient Stiles, but on the other side Isaac was almost the opposite, in that he happened to be taking a nap, and his woken-up state kind of forgot the whole ignore-scott-because-I-don't-deserve-him plan.

"Hello?" He answered, groggily, his body half off the bed as a result of his attempt to get the phone, which was charging, a few feet from the edge of the bed, the rest of his body awkwardly angled on the bed. "Scott?"

"No, it's not Scott." Stiles responded, rapidly firing out words, his slightly hushed tone compromising for the lack of tact he had when snooping through Scott's texts, "It's _Stiles_. And not a happy Stiles. You're being a fucking ass, Isaac."

"No- I-"

"Yes, you are." Stiles tried to think about the quickest way to convey his message without causing...well, a major offence, "Now, I don't know what fucked up idea you have in your head about Scott, but he's not to be fucked around with. If you're not interested, tell him. If you are, same applies. Get your shit together, before I climb through your computer screen and kick your fucking _ass_ over it."

"I'm interested!" Isaac protested, although he wasn't exactly sure what 'being interested' entailed, and what exactly he was revealing by saying he was, "He just... He's too good for me."

"You and me both, pal." Stiles heard footsteps on the stairs, and had to wrap up the ending pretty quick. "Get your shit together, or else, Isaac. Later."

Before Isaac could ask what the hell Stiles meant by what he said, or why he was speaking in such a weird tone, all he could hear was the pitch of an ended call and the silence of the house once more. He'd had to take a nap after work that day, getting stuck with an eight hour shift that made him want to bury himself underneath all the soil he was moving, and leaving him exhausted.

Slowly, he allowed himself to process what Stiles was saying, simply staring at his phone for a few minutes whilst he took it all in. He reluctantly evaluated Stiles' points, and unfortunately rendered them valid.

Sighing, he dragged open the messages application on his phone, and began to type.

-

"Hey, Mom says we can order take out later-" Scott pushed open the door and moved into the room, freezing instantly, "What did you do?"

Stiles was trying desperately to look innocent, whilst being aimlessly stood in the middle of the room.

"Nothing." He managed, fairly neutrally, waving his arms a little. If it wasn't for years of companionship, Scott would have believed him, but he felt that Stiles probably couldn't have done something _that_ bad in the space of three minutes, so he dropped it.

"Anyway, Mom says we can get takeout - she left some money on the counter, but she's going out with some nurses tonight, so she won't be back for ages." Scott took his place on the floor again, almost sitting on an empty packet of crisps as he did so, and only just missing them. "Shall we continue?"

"Yeah, sure, if you're ready to continue getting your ass kicked."

Rolling his eyes, Scott moved to pick up the controls again, before his phone beeped, as in a beep it would make if it had received a text.

Quick deductions of the fact that Stiles was sat in front of him, and his mother was downstairs, Scott recognised that this would be Isaac texting, and couldn't help but let his heart pound a million times faster as he stood up, not meeting Stiles' eye for fear of what he would find there.

As he reached the bed, his shaky hands unlocked the screen, and he clicked on the message app, the little +1 taunting him with it's clarity. The words took a few moments to unscramble themselves.

to: scott 19:12  
hey, man. sorry i've been a  
bit absent lately - work's  
been crazy. it's still a bit  
crazy, but i didn't want u to  
think i wasn't still interested  
:) hope you're doing okay xx

 

Scott released a breath he didn't realise he was holding and almost threw his phone on the bed in the surge of relief he felt. He brought the phone back to the floor, and sat cross-legged next to Stiles, who peered over his shoulder as he typed, and rolled his eyes at the kisses at the end of the text.

"You two seriously need to get on with it." He commented, as Scott typed out a very positive message with an abundance of x's on the end, "Honestly, do us all a favour."

"He doesn't like me like that." Scott insisted, his finger hovering over the send button for a few seconds before, being firm with himself, he forced the tip onto the 'send', shooting it off into the vacuum of texting.

"Oh my _God_ , Scott," Stiles groaned, before pulling the phone out of Scott's hand and scrolling up a little, "Look, ' _still interested_ ' - what does that sound like to you? A casual friendship?"

"I don't know," Scott said in response, leaning to try and retrieve his phone, and failing, "Hey, do you mind?"

"Not at all." Was Stiles' smart-ass answer, before he scoffed a little, turning the phone screen in Scott's direction and obviously wanting him to look at an old text.

23:54  
wow scott, naughty naughty.  
u gonna be punished for that.

23:55  
can't wait ;)

 

"That's practically a porn intro!" Stiles hissed, trying to reiterate his message by shaking the screen a little, as if that would help Scott read the tiny black letters. "Honestly, you two are sickening."

"Hey, _we_ text like that." Scott tried to argue, before seeing Stiles' expression.

"No." He began, his raised eyebrows and knowing eyes making Scott feel like the fool in the situation, "No, no, _no_ . We do _not_ text like that."

Indiscriminate grumbling came from Scott's end, before he ended up lying down in the floor, uncrossing his legs and allowing himself to lie on the empty crisp packet fully, ignoring the pathetic crinkling beneath him. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that the way he texted Isaac was nothing like the way he texted Stiles.

"Alright," He admitted, finally, after allowing Stiles to scroll through wa-ay too much of his message feed, "Maybe we don't text the same. But that doesn't mean he likes me like that."

"Does too." Stiles joined him in lying on the floor, despite the litter, he know-it-all voice receding a little, replaced by a tired (but gleeful) voice filled with low-key excitement. "I mean, what does 'still interested' mean, except from 'I am desperate to fuck you, please don't leave me'."

"That is _not_ what it means."

"What does it mean, then?"

Scott huffed, before turning on his side to give Stiles an exasperated look.

"Fine, I don't know. But it doesn't mean... _That_."

Silence settled for a few moments, before Stiles cleared his throat dramatically, announcing that he had the solution, before beginning:

"Scott and Isaac, sittin' in a tree, K I S S I N-"

"Oh for fuck's sake, _Stiles_." Scott silenced him with this remark, but it didn't stop the commentary completely.

"You know I'm right." The other teen said, smugly, his plan finally coming together, "You like Isaac."

"What does it matter if I like Isaac?"

"Then you two could get together!"

"We live 6 hours apart."

"So? That hasn't stopped people before."

"I guess." Scott sighed heavily, hating how pathetic it sounded in the empty air. "I just don't want to lose him because he's too far away. People can ruin long distance relationships by making them romantic."

"At least he's not in Saudi Arabia. It's only a 6 hour drive, not a 16 hour plane flight."

"Yeah." Scott knew that Stiles was right, but God was it scary. "I'm scared I'm just gonna make it worse."

"Well, I assure you that he feels the same way." Stiles said, in a voice that betrayed how much he actually knew about the situation, "Trust me, he's scared too. Because it is scary, but if you're 'interested'-" He did this in air quotes quite dramatically, "-then you need to tell him."

"Mm."

"Seriously Scott," Stiles stern tone surprised him, and Scott turned to meet his eye once more. "Don't you dare lose him."

-

Taking a deep breath, Scott pressed the call button, the musty air in the room doing nothing to help his erratic breathing. It had been almost 24 hours since they started talking again, and he was craving the soft syllables of Isaac's voice; his accent was similar to Scott's, but much gentler. Finally, Scott convinced Isaac to call, but he wasn't sure how well it would go.

Time to find out.

"Hello?" Scott asked, when the phone picked up, and was immediately relieved to hear the response.

"Hey. How you doing?"

"Good, good, you?"

Isaac almost flinched at the softness of the word 'you'; Scott was the most caring person he'd ever met, and he obviously seemed worried by Isaac's mini disappearance. It felt like such a dick move to cut him off, but it was so _necessary_. So why was Isaac doing this?

Slumped on his bed, with his voice as close to the speaker he could get away with, Isaac felt like every nerve in his body was on fire; his father was home, watching tv downstairs, but he'd probably explode if he heard Isaac up here on the phone. But Scott had been so concerned, and Isaac knew it would harm their friendship if they didn't call for at least a little while.  

"Yeah, good. Glad the week from hell is over, to be honest." He tried to play it off, hoping that mentioning it would stop it becoming a taboo subject. Hearing Scott's rhythmic breathing on the end of the phone was helping to steady his heartbeat a little, but he also knew that this could be the last time they spoke if it didn't go to plan.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Pain needled at Isaac's heart, but he had to push past it. _No weakness, not now._

"No." That was too harsh- too abrupt. "I just- need to move on. Is that okay?"

"Of course." The soft syllables slid from Scott's lips like liquid honey, brushing against the speakerphone in such a tender way that Isaac regretted his words. Deep down, he wanted to tell Scott everything, babble about his problems and cry - maybe yell - until he was hoarse, pray for someone to swoop in and save him. However, even deeper than that, he knew that he couldn't; Scott was such a caring person that it'd tear him apart. "Do you want me to just talk?"

"That'd be nice." Isaac murmured back, unbelievably grateful for the offer.

"Okay." Scott smiled, relaxing, knowing that he can do this. Slowly, he unraveled his day, pulling and pushing the facts together into a coherent mess, updating Isaac on the hospital staff drama and on his position in the game. After about ten minutes, Scott could tell that Isaac had calmed a little, and finally felt that it was safe to tentatively raise the subject. "Isaac?"

"Mm?"

"You know you can tell me anything, yeah?"

There was a moment where Isaac's anxiety shot straight back through the roof, but Scott was persistent- he just had to say this else it'd eat him alive.

"I don't care if you're in trouble, or it's too complicated, or personal, or you think you're boring me- I swear, Isaac, whatever it is, I promise you that I'll always listen."

 _No_.

"Scott," Isaac's voice was a wrangle between trying to communicate his frustration whilst simultaneously not alerting his dad to this fiasco. "Please don't. Just don't-"

"As long as you know I'm here, alright?"

"No." This time Isaac said it out loud, wincing when he realised he'd done so. "Don't do it, Scott. I'm actually warning you."

A few seconds of silence, and then a simple-

"Okay."

"Look," The word practically spat itself out of Isaac's mouth, unable to stay trapped there any longer, hearing the sickly sweet pity in Scott's tone and _loathing_ it. "If there was something wrong, I'd tell you. If I needed your help, I'd ask for it. I'm not a fucking child, Scott, so don't you dare treat me like one."

Anger scorched Isaac's lips as the words escaped, but he just couldn't let Scott find out- he _couldn't_.

"Don't you dare."

For a few seconds, the phone line rang deathly quiet, and all Isaac could think was how he'd probably just fucked up the only relationship he could ever hope to have.

"Do you not trust me?"

And there it was; the eternal way to make Isaac's heart cave in on itself.

How could he tell him? _You're the closest friend I've ever had, I've never loved someone the way I love you._

"Of course I trust you." Isaac muttered out, "I just can't- I don't-"

"I don't want anything from you." Scott replied, in a sinfully soft voice, "Just for you to know I'm here."

"Okay." Chewing on his fingernail, Isaac figured that this conversation was unlikely to improve much from here. "I've got to go, but I'll text you."

"Kay." A small expelling of air, perhaps a sigh of relief? "See you later. Bye."

In a small wave of panic, Isaac stabbed the 'hang up' button, not even thinking to say goodbye as he heard the telltale signs of feet on the stairs. Thoroughly panicked, he shoved the phone onto his bedside table and picked up his book, opening it to a random page and staring intensely as his heart jumped in his mouth. Dusty footsteps hit the hardwood floor outside his door, the nails making the slightest scrape on the rubber shoe, feeling like a matching scrape on Isaac's nerves at every move.

The feet stopped.

Barely a knock grazed the wood of the door before it was being opened, and Isaac's neck snapped up, his throat dry and his palms sweating so much it was probably dampening the book's pages a little.

The dark, drunken eyes of his father matched the scrappy clothing and heavy boots, the combination rolling into one sweaty mess that needed a punching bag.

"Get up." His voice was hoarse but firm, leaving no element of doubt in the tone.

Scrambling up from the bed, Isaac felt his heartbeat from his chest to the tips of his fingers, the blood rush blurring out all other sounds other than the instinct to _obey_ and _live_.

"You're not to spend any more time after school from now on, you hear me? All homework done here."

"Yes, sir." _Obey obey obey. Live live live._

"If you need the computer, there's one in my office." His father seemed put off by the idea of offering it, shown by his quirked lip and wrinkled nose, but he seemed to think it was ultimately the better option. "And you're to stop speaking to that faggot English teacher of yours, you hear? Get your A, but no cock-sucking. He's another one I'd like to see fired, but the board are so far up his gay ass they can't see the problem with him."

Swaying slightly, he then nodded to himself - or to Isaac maybe, who knew - and staggered back a little, before slamming the door shut and continuing along the corridor, barely acknowledging Isaac's second "yes, sir".

So, it was the English teacher that had made this week so unbearable.

Whilst Isaac knew logically that Mr Stewart didn't know what he's done, there was also a small part of him that hated him immensely. Obviously, a large part of the punishment he genuinely deserved, but this extra level of hype hadn't actually been his fault this time.

Releasing his held breath as his father fell into bed, Isaac returned to his comforter, crawling under the sheets and letting himself breathe again, even if only momentarily.

"Fuck." He hissed out under his breath, and pushed his palms into his eyes, revelling in the swirling multitude of colours that erupted from the pressure.

2 feet away, Scott McCall hung up the phone.

He hadn't _meant_ to listen in, but he kept waiting for Isaac to say goodbye, and then suddenly there was a slurred, angry voice that made Isaac sound so small and useless that Scott was hooked.

He couldn't imagine saying "yes, sir" to his father. And as much of a "jumbo bag of inverted dicks" Scott's dad had been (Stiles' phrase, not his), even _he_ wouldn't have used the awful slurs that Isaac's father had just used.

When he imagined Isaac's living situation, he just thought he didn't get along with his father very well - maybe the combination of a divorce and losing Camden was just too much - but this seemed to be a whole new level of totalitarian parenting.

Maybe the situation was a whole lot worse than he thought.

Scott's senses ached at the thought of Isaac being in such a controlling family; after the divorce (of which Isaac never spoke, so Scott knew it had to have been messy) and the loss of his brother, he just needed some quiet time in a little suburban neighbourhood to get through his SATs before moving off to college.

Staring at his dark room, his phone cradled in his hand, Scott debated what to do. Obviously, he should tell Isaac that he'd overheard the conversation, but after the heated discussion they'd just had about this exact issue...he wasn't so sure.

He didn't even realise that this was the extent of what they were discussing. At most, he thought Isaac was just having a tough week with his dad or school, but this was more than he ever thought.

What was he supposed to do now?

scott 21:39  
just so you know, i'm also  
'still interested' ... xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been like 18 months...how are y'all?
> 
> i had fully accepted that this story was dead until a few months ago. i made a lovely new friend, and when she found out that i write fanfic, she urged me to keep writing my lowkey abandoned WIP (aka this). [at this point, i was considering it] and THEN i got a lovely comment from ao3 user procrastinationzone, and that was it. this chapter had been sat in my googledocs half finished for over 18 months, but now, here it is? i have the next chapter already written (with a mini interlude chapter bcs i love this fic but my original plan was too detailed for my current life to handle so im skipping a little bit). so yeah. 
> 
> i guess the moral of the story is dont underestimate leaving nice comments???
> 
> (it obviously won't be as much as i originally planned, bcs the scisaac fandom is probably deader than a doornail at this point, but i can't leave it hanging. so yeah. knock urselves out)


	8. first meet-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring spread like warm butter into long summer days, the elongation of the waking hours leaving more and more room for Scott and Isaac to tumble further into their personal abyss; they took time to study and encourage each other in between their endless phone calls, before reaching the end of the semester with a jolt.
> 
> Grades were good on both sides, with dutiful celebrations on both ends. Scott's was in the way of a cheap bottle of prosecco and Chinese takeout, laughing with his mother until he felt sick. Isaac's was in the way of a text with too many emoji's from Scott, and half a lukewarm beer with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the formatting is wank in places im sorry but this is almost 10k and im Too Tired

 Spring spread like warm butter into long summer days, the elongation of the waking hours leaving more and more room for Scott and Isaac to tumble further into their personal abyss; they took time to study and encourage each other in between their endless phone calls, before reaching the end of the semester with a jolt.

Grades were good on both sides, with dutiful celebrations on both ends. Scott's was in the way of a cheap bottle of prosecco and Chinese takeout, laughing with his mother until he felt sick. Isaac's was in the way of a text with too many emoji's from Scott, and half a lukewarm beer with his father.

It left both of their summers pretty empty, Isaac choosing to take on a second job at a shop rather than extend his hours at the graveyard, praying that his higher absence rate would reduce the number of Incidents. So far, it was working well, and Isaac was really enjoying working in the little jumble shop in the town centre. Sure, it wasn't cool, but that was never something Isaac had been too concerned about.

Slowly life was seeming better - if not better, just something a little more manageable.

And then, on a Monday night, after a 3-hour phone call, the following conversation unfolded.

**scott 00:58**

**isaac can i ask u something?**

**isaac 01:00**

**are we about to have The Talk**

**01:01**

**of course!!**

**01:02**

**do you think we'll ever meet**

**in person?**

**01:03**

**well my schedule's pretty**

**empty next week**

**01:03**

**haha no but seriously**

**01:04**

**...i am serious?**

**01:05**

**no really**

**01:05**

**really**

**01:05**

**omg for real**

**01:05**

**yeah**

**01:06**

**we don't have to!!**

**01:06**

**no omg i want to!!! im**

**just surprised i guess?**

**01:06**

**why?**

**01:07**

**what about your dad?**

**01:07**

**we'll pick a day he's out (he's**

**definitely working wednesday)**

**01:07**

**what will we do??**

**01:07**

**idk meet in the middle**

**maybe? go to a mall or sth**

**01:08**

**how will we get there?**

**01:10**

**train? the train links down the side**

**of cali and it passes through my**

**town - we could meet somewhere**

**in the middle and you could drive**

**or get the bus or something**

**01:11**

**i bet stiles would drive**

**me if i asked**

**01:11**

**holy shit are we really**

**doing this**

**01:12**

**idk**

**01:12**

**maybe?**

**01:13**

**im actually so excited!!!!!**

**01:13**

**me too!!!!!!!**

**01:14**

**omg in 10 days we'll have met**

**01:15**

**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**01:16**

**ive never done something**

**this impulsively before**

**01:17**

**me neither? are we crazy**

**01:18**

**maybe a little bit. but in**

**a good way?**

**01:18**

***in the BEST way :)**

**01:19**

**:) xxx**

**01:19**

**:) xxxxxxx we'll talk in the**

**morning xxx**

**01:20**

**night scott xxx**

**01:20**

**night isaac xxxx**

\---

It had taken serious guts for Isaac to lie to his dad about something as big as this (guts he didn't even know he possessed), but he sincerely hoped (and was relying on the fact) that his father figure would be passed out drunk on the couch by the time he got back, effectively leaving out a lot of explaining if there needed to be any.

Yes, Isaac knew that this was risky - meeting up with online friends always was - but he was _so_ convinced that Scott really was a 17-year-old male from Beacon Hills that that part was barely a concern anymore. More importantly, he was worried that they wouldn't get on as well face to face as they did on the Internet, which happens to a lot of people, and there wasn't much that could be done about it. However, they had spoken so much on the phone over the past few weeks, and Isaac knew that that was a major part of it, and so didn't really feel like too much more could go wrong.

Still, there was always that possibility.

Another main factor was that Isaac _still_ didn't know how Scott felt about him. Like, there had been some serious vibes that led Isaac to believe that the romantic feelings weren't just one-sided, but anytime there'd been an opportunity to say something, nothing had happened. (Also: Allison, but Isaac liked to ignore Scott's chances of an actual girlfriend in these scenarios... It never really went with the rest of the story).

It was the 'still interested' that kind of got him.

But then, Isaac knew that he just wasn't good enough for Scott in that way (in any way?), and whilst something _might_ happen, he also knew that it shouldn't, and therefore if anything of the sort was to seem likely, he was to evacuate immediately.

Even though it kind of killed him to think it.

Sighing, Isaac put his chin on his hand and stared out the train window, allowing his knee to do its restless jig as he did so. The train he was on wasn't particularly busy, but there were three kids and a mother on the table seat behind him, and they were beginning to drive him a little insane; there was only so long a disney movie and crayons could keep them occupied, and the fun of it was starting to run dry, hence causing a lot of shrieking and underhand violence.

The woman sat opposite Isaac looked to be in her early twenties, tapping away furiously on her laptop on the table between them, and there was a fancy bluetooth earpiece wired into her head. Whilst she didn't seem particularly approachable, Isaac had a feeling that if he sat down opposite her, she wouldn't attempt any smalltalk with him, or try and strike up a friendship (which was exactly what he _didn't_ want).

All he had to do now was wait.

There was barely even an hour of the train journey left before he had to get off and find Scott, but he was still nervous; he forgot to do the dishes the night before and his father had just caught him before he left for the night shift, throwing him down the stairs, and gave him a curious bruise that streaked all the way up his neck. There wasn't much he could do about it except throw a scarf on top, but it was almost the height of summer, and it was starting to get uncomfortable.

As long as no-one asked any questions, he should be alright.

A buzzing reached Isaac's ears, and he realised he had a new text; his heart, if possibly, sped up even more as he opened it, allowing a stupid grin to spread across his face as he read it.

 **scott** **9:42**

**i'm about an hour away**

**\- so excited!!**

He'd finished the text with seven different emojis and a colon-D face, extracting a small snort from the teen and an even bigger grin as he replied.

 

 **isaac** **9:44**

 **me** **too** **!!!** **is there a parking lot**

**outside the train station where**

**i** **can meet you?**

 

Texts threw themselves back and forth for another twenty minutes, before Scott said Stiles was pulling into a rest stop for a bit and wanted to talk, so he'd catch him later.

It was just as Isaac was sending back a text to confirm their break that the trolley lady rolled down the cart, asking politely but jubilantly if anybody wanted anything. As a general rule, people said no, but the children behind Isaac clamoured for such a long time over who got what that everyone else got hungry just by listening to them.

Personally, Isaac was starving, but he thought that if he ate anything, there was a high chance that it wouldn't stay down for long, so he politely declined when she reached his section of the train.

"Goodness me, young man, how are you wearing a scarf in this weather?" Her eyes were kind, and Isaac knew that she was just looking out for him (he probably looked as nervous as he felt). "You'll get heatstroke if you keep that on."

"I'm fine." The teenager replied, quickly, but the woman opposite him had already lifted her head, quirking an eyebrow, noticing the scarf for the first time. "I get cold a lot."

"Are you sure?" The trolley lady's eyebrows knitted in concern, "I'm not too good at first aid, you know, so if you do pass out, there isn't much I can do to help you."

"I'll be fine, really."

Dubious, the unnamed woman pushed the trolley a little further down the carriage, and began to ask the people in the next section if they needed anything - Isaac had successfully avoided a serious discussion about the scarf. It felt like more of a success than it actually was.

"Why _are_ you wearing that thing?"

Snapping out his mini reverie, Isaac jerked his head upwards, dislodging the scarf a little, but he quickly pulled it back around his neck, making sure every part of the strange bruise was covered. It turned out that the person who had spoken was the woman who was sat across from him, her laptop screen pushed down a little so that she could talk to him and her fancy bluetooth thing was on the table rather than on her head.

Gulping, the teenager tried to remember his previous excuse.

"I-um, I get cold. A lot. It's a medical thing."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Right." When Isaac mustered the courage to look her in the eye, he was surprised to see that she was smirking slightly, which he immediately cocked his head at, wondering what on Earth was so funny, "I know a hickey cover-up when I see one."

It took a moment for Isaac to process what she said, but by the time he had, she was already talking again.

"And by your general posture and attitude - and the gazillion texts - I'm guessing you're going to see another possible love interest now, but you don't want them to see the hickeys from the other girl you have back home?"

Spluttering, Isaac tried to defend himself, but he didn't have a decent alternate argument that would explain the scarf, so he had to give it up in the end, and just sent the woman a - what he hoped was - mildly threatening death glare.

"Wow. Never would have thought it." She slouched back in her seat slightly, still looking amused, "When you sat down, I thought you were just a regular teenager who studied a lot and was going to see a grandparent or something. This alternative took quite a swerve."

"Yes, well," Sarcasm seeped into Isaac's tone almost before he could stop it, "Not everyone's life can be _quite_ as exciting as mine, y'know."

She couldn't help laughing after that, and they spent the remaining half hour on the train talking; Isaac found out that she wasn't actually a hardcore business girl, and instead a 22-year-old writer in a publishing company, called Ellie, with a mad mother and a moody boyfriend stuck at home, whilst she worked an hour away - hence the train journey - keeping the family going and just generally trying to achieve her dreams of being a writer. She nattered for quite a while before she realised the large proportion of talking time she had taken up.

"What about you, though?" She asked, with ten minutes spare until they pulled into the station they were both getting off at, "I just talked for ages - what's your tragic tale?"

"Tragic tale?" Isaac couldn't help but grin, rolling his eyes at her use of words, and decided to take her question way too far, and spoke in a strangely serious tone, "Well, you have to promise not to say anything, but I'm really a lost prince, stranded in the wrong continent because the French government want me dead - there was a prophecy, you see, where I overthrow them and become king of the world. They knew they were no match for me, so they're constantly sending assassins after me to try and take me out. They're failed so far - I'm just too good. Obviously."

Despite the small laugh Ellie let free, she shook her head at him and gave him a look that conveyed she meant business.

"Seriously, though. Where are you travelling from?"

It continued like that for a little while until she asked a question that set Isaac completely on edge, almost wishing that he was instead the lost prince of the prophecy, rather than his pathetic, normal self.

"What are your parents like? Any siblings?"

In hindsight, Isaac saw that Ellie realised she'd struck a nerve, her face changing as his did, nibbling her lip in worry as he refused to meet her eye. Despite this clear sign of discomfort, she didn't change the subject, however, and instead waited the painful seconds for him to respond, and then probing.

"Uh, it's just me and my dad."

Isaac cleared his throat and looked out the window, refusing to witness her reaction, hating every second of the pity he could feel.

"For how long?"

"A few years."

Feeling sick with the knowledge that Ellie now knew about his mother (although he realised afterwards that she wouldn't know if it was death or divorce), Isaac decided to leave out the extra dead brother and the abusive father; pity was a hard substance to handle, especially when you weren't used to receiving it, and he hadn't been on this end in quite a few years.

(No-one knew enough about him to care)

(Except- now, maybe Scott?)

"Sorry." She looked a little nervous, but Isaac tried to smile it off, refusing to let his past come between him and his new friend.

"S'okay." He sat up a little straighter. "Wanna do 20 questions?"

"Quick-fire, though, right? We only have, like, five minutes."

"Of course." Isaac grinned, and readjusted his scarf a little, forgetting the bruise in the moment and leaning forward a little in his chair, "You ask first."

For a moment, she looked a little shocked, but when Isaac cocked his head in concern, she shook her own, and instead leant forward a little also, her voice steady when she spoke.

"Favourite colour?"

"That's pathetic. Blue. Best childhood memory?"

"Tenth birthday. Who're you meeting today?"

There was a slight pause, before Isaac answered as carefully as he could, trying not to ruin her theory whilst still remaining truthful.

"A friend. What was your-"

"No, I want her name."

"Well," Isaac raised his eyebrows tauntingly, "You should have asked a better question then. What was your first pet called?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she played along, only stopping him when they reached the train door, speaking as quietly as she could whilst still keeping him in earshot.

"You might need to adjust your scarf."

Confusion settled in his vision, momentarily blinding him, but then dread swept in, throwing out all positive emotions and just leaving terror and shame, burning a hole in Isaac's head and whispering _pathetic pathetic pathetic_. Once he had moved the scarf around a little, he tried to banish his heavy chest and look at her, a little nervously, licking his lips and opening his mouth to say something, but then running out of words to say, the halting screech of the train stealing the words from the tip of his tongue.

"Who was the other guy?" She asked, eventually, after they'd walked a good distance along the platform in silence, her carrying her fancy briefcase and Isaac with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"What?" Isaac almost stopped in surprise at the sudden verbal contact, but forced himself forward.

"The guy who gave you that." She nodded vaguely towards his neck, "I can't even recognise how that bruise would be made - it must have been an object of some sort, but you can't have hit your neck like that having fallen."

"I didn't fall," The teenager answered, carefully, as they approached the ticket barriers, "It was some sort of iron bar."

Lies. All lies.

Isaac's father had pushed him down the stairs, and he'd hit the sharp edge of a stair at an angle, on his neck, hence leaving a strange, almost linear, bruise.

"The- the other guy _hit_ you with it?" She looked collected and calm as she passed through the barrier, but Isaac could see the thin layer of nerves underneath; she was almost as bad at lying as he was. "That sounds a bit..."

"Barbaric? Yeah." Isaac snorted, trying to palm it off as something casual, "You should see the rest of the neighbourhood."

"You really _can't_ tell much from appearances, can you?" Ellie mused aloud as they reached the doors of the station, which opened onto the path that led to the parking lot (where Scott would hopefully be waiting for Isaac), "You're not the good little academic I thought you were."

"Well, just to blow you _completely_ out of the water, I have another tiny error with your 'who is Isaac?' theory."

"Oh really?" Ellie looked a little doubtful but amused, and she motioned that she was going to turn off onto a different path to the one that led to the parking lot, and so Isaac stopped, causing her to stop too.

"I'm heading to the parking lot." He explained at her curious glance, but she just nodded, and folded her arms in impatience.

"What was wrong with my theory then? Was there someone else involved? Are you the one getting messed about?"

"Ah," Isaac couldn't help but grin a little, a tad excited for her reaction, "To answer your earlier question: the 20 questions one, about the person I'm meeting today. His name is Scott."

Shock flashed across the smaller woman's face as she registered what he was saying, but then annoyance settled itself into a frown on her features, and Isaac suddenly felt extremely worried. Was she against that sort of thing? That would be just his luck.

"The _scarf_." She said, in a tone that indicated frustration, but not directed at Isaac - more at herself, "It was a total giveaway. I'm _such_ an idiot."

"Well, actually, the scarf was only a last minute decision-"

"Oh, shush, I still should have realised." She shook her head, proceeding to mutter something else under her breath that Isaac didn't quite catch.

"Y'know, we don't look any different from anyone else." Isaac replied, a little defensively, kind of pissed that she thought it was such an obvious feature, "It's not like we have neon warning signs over our heads."

"But I still should have-"

"No, you shouldn't have." His jaw locked, but he still forced out a few more words, "It doesn't say _anything_ about the person other than what gender they're attracted to."

The brunette didn't meet his eye, instead choosing to stare at her hands and twist them together. With some forced politeness, Isaac pushed a smile onto his face, although he wasn't sure how convincing it was.

"Well, I'm late. Scott'll be waiting. Bye, Ellie."

With that, he turned and followed the path he needed to stay on, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went and trying to settle the flames rising in his chest, threatening to engulf him in their fury. He really hated that some people felt boxes like that existed; if you liked such and such, you went in one box, and anything else? The other box. This and that. Black and white. Right and wrong.

Surprisingly, he made it to the parking lot without internally combusting, and read a text from Scott that said they were almost there - the traffic was just bad. Isaac replied with an enthusiastic series of questions that pinpointed his location, and let him know that he was waiting in the lot (he may or may not have added a few emojis, just for good luck).

Even as he stood there, the neutrally cloudy day soothing his troubled conscious; did he have a right to get a little mad at Ellie? After all, she may know something that he didn't; maybe she had studied queer studies at college and knew some signs that showed these things. Maybe she had a sibling who had studied it. Maybe she herself was gay.

Was any of that a right to tell him how he should act, though? To decide what being gay was, and how to recognise someone who was from something other than being told?

All this took over his mind so drastically that he almost forgot to be nervous about meeting Scott, but it suddenly all came back, flooding his lungs faster than a tidal wave, and cutting off the oxygen supply in his throat, choking him and causing mild dizziness.

Quickly, he found the nearest wall and leant on it, refusing to let nerves get the better of his first meeting with Scott: they were so close, and they'd been waiting for this for nearly four months now, and it had killed them both to suffer through all that time.

In a sudden moment of calm, Isaac wondered how tall Scott was.

Yes, they'd exchanged photos of themselves (Isaac very reluctantly so - he didn't have any friends to include in the picture, and so had to rely on a blurry selfie taken in bad lighting, when Scott wouldn't let it go, demanding to see a picture of Isaac so that he knew he wasn't talking to a 50-year-old paedophile. Isaac saw the necessity of the picture then, and sent one, but he wasn't happy about it) but Isaac couldn't really guess at how tall Scott was. He hoped he wasn't really small, else regular conversation would be a little awkward, seeing as he was practically part-giant.

Tapping his foot impatiently, Isaac jumped when he received a text, a thrill shooting through him when he realised it said 'we're here!!!!' with a ton of smiley faces.

"Isaac?"

The teenager spun on his heel, but realised a moment too late that the voice was that of a female's, and his blood started to pound in his ears when he saw Ellie stood a couple of metres away, looking nervous as hell.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a slightly frosty tone, hoping that she'd just _leave it leave it leave it_ , telekinetically daring her to take one step closer, trying to communicate with her through his eyes that this was the worst moment she could have picked, with whatever car Scott was in being driven around the ginormous parking lot on the search for him.

"Er, I just wanted to apologise." Her doe-like eyes looked genuinely sorry, and Isaac was inclined to believe her, but he just wanted her to leave.

"Apology accepted."

He turned back to face the parking lot again, waiting for Scott to jump out of a nearby car and walk towards him, his happy little face grinning and a bounce in his step.

"No, really, I-"

She stepped forward and put a hand out to touch his arm, but Isaac flinched, knowing it was instinct but hating himself for it anyway, and shot her a 'I'm pissed please just leave me alone' face. In surprise, Ellie nodded, and took a step back, but she didn't leave.

"Look, if you ever need a job, or want to get into anything in the literary industry, I can guarantee you a job, or something." When Isaac turned to look at her, she was holding out a business card, not quite meeting his eye, but huffing slightly when he didn't take it, "Look, you and I both know that you like reading - you got _all_ of my book references, even the boring ones. I don't care what kind of neighbourhood you come from - or who you wanna fuck, for that matter - I just care about getting good people on my team who aren't going to let me down. I don't think you'd do that."

Apart from the sound of driving cars on the nearby road and the occasional shrieking child from the play park on the street opposite, there was quiet, and Isaac had a moment of serious dilemma over whether or not to take the business card.

"For God's sake, just _have_ it." She thrust the card at him, causing him to reach for it almost on instinct, and backed off a little, "Choose whether to call me later. I- I hope you have a nice day with Scott. Sorry I pissed you off."

If life had been in a cartoon at that moment, Isaac's jaw would have dropped ridiculously, and would have hit the ground with the sound of a heavy weight, but it wasn't, so he just ended up stood on the sidewalk, staring after Ellie's retreating figure, card in hand, when a beaten up blue jeep parked jauntily not too far from him.

Blinking, Isaac turned to take another look, and saw a pair of semi-familiar pair of brown eyes staring back at him from the passenger’s seat, and couldn't help but grin.

\--

"Oh my God, what do I do?"

"Get out, you dimwit." Stiles gave Scott a small push on the arm as an encouragement, "We've already done the 'oh, isn't he tall and dreamy' sketch from the first time we drove around, so you could ogle at him and check he wasn't a nutter. Now, it's time to get out and _talk_ to him."

"But what if he doesn't like me?" Scott looked so honestly terrified that, for a moment, Stiles almost felt sorry for him, but then he remembered that Scott was the nicest, friendliest, and generally loveliest person on the planet, and no-one on _Earth_ would dislike him.

"Scott, stop being an ass, you're leaving him stood on the sidewalk all on his lonesome. Get out of the car."

Taking a deep breath, Scott pushed on the handle of the car door, jumping down the gap between the car and the ground with nerves and a little clumsiness, his slight stumbling causing a grin to spread on Isaac's face, and a nervous smile to appear on Scott's.

"Hey." Scott said, a little breathlessly, as he reached Isaac, unable to stop smiling, but unsure as to what to say.

"Hey." Isaac replied, a small bubble of hysteria bubbling up inside him, the card in his hand forgotten as he took in Scott properly, unable to believe that they were _actually_ doing this.

"Who was she?" Scott nodded towards the almost minuscule figure of Ellie, his face curious, but still clearly nervous, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, um," Isaac remembered the card in his hand, and held it up a little awkwardly, but not close enough for Scott to be able to read it, "Woman I met on the train. She said some stuff that was a bit off earlier, and she just came to apologise."

"Was she the one you were arguing with before?"

Surprised, Isaac blinked a few times, but nodded.

"You saw that?"

Scott suddenly looked a little sheepish, and didn't meet Isaac's eye, causing a slight suspicion to rise in Isaac's mind.

"We, er, went round before, to check that you were-" Scott motioned with his hand, but not very effectively, "Y'know."

"What?" Isaac grinned, relaxing slightly when he realised what this meant; Scott had been just as nervous as he was about this meeting, except Scott was so genuinely kind and earnest that this worry was simply adorable.

"Well, that you were who you said you were."

Unable to contain a laugh, Isaac couldn't help but revel in the fact that they were both so similar. All the way, Isaac had been terrified, but played it off as something far less serious.

"What? I only had, like, two selfies to go off, and one was incredibly blurry." Scott had his arms folded, but he was grinning, clearly very relieved that Isaac was taking this information well. “Your snapchats could have just been very clever catfishing.”

"Well, it's nice to know you have faith."

Scott laughed at that, and it was almost like being on the phone with him again, curled up in the small hours of the morning, whispering and laughing into the phone, trying not to wake his father on the nights that he was home.

"C'mon, it's weird being stood out here, let's get in the car."

Isaac followed Scott to the beat-up jeep and jumped in the back seat, not even considering taking the front when Scott offered it to him - even if he was new in this meeting, he knew enough that he shouldn't split up Scott and Stiles. Even before he spoke to Scott online, Stiles used to talk about him on the forums constantly, relaying funny stories and general information to anyone who was willing to listen. It was simultaneously really annoying and disgustingly cute - they both referred to each other as brothers and, after getting to know Scott a lot more intimately in the passing months, Isaac really began to understand why.

"Good morning," Stiles twisted in his seat and mimed tilting his cap at Isaac, his voice escalating into something that resembled... British? "My name is Stiles; I'll be your chauffeur for today."

Not even waiting for a response, Stiles spun around and pushed his foot down on the accelerator, causing Isaac to jolt in his seat and scrabble for a seatbelt. However, just as he managed to click himself in, he realised that Scott had twisted around in his seat to talk to him, and he couldn't help but smile, mimicking the other teen's pleasant expression.

"So, how was your journey? Y'know, apart from the rude woman."

"She wasn't particularly _rude_ , she was just-" Isaac shook his head, realising that if he was going to explain what she was then he might have to tell the whole story, and he did _not_ want to do that, "Nah, it was alright. There was a creepy dude at the station - you saw the snapchat? - who didn't leave me alone for _ages,_ but he went in the end. Thank God. I thought I was gonna end up getting of the train with him attached to my hip. How was yours?"

Isaac was rambling a little, and he knew he was, but he refused to acknowledge it, and instead pushed forwards, determined for them to get along as well in real life as they did over the phone.

"Apart from Mr. All-this-music-sucks-so-I'm-going-to-complain-about-the-new-Apple-update-the-whole-way, it wasn't too bad." Scott received a mumbled response from Stiles in complaint, but he appeared to be mostly concentrating on driving, so that was about it, "Also, we passed this animal shelter a few miles back, but we didn't go in, even though they have one of the biggest abandoned dogs section in California."

"Scott, if we went in, we wouldn't come out again." Stiles commented, turning over off a main road to a less busy one, that looked a little more suburban. "And you would probably end up adopting half the dogs in there."

"I can't help it if they're adorable." Scott protested, but flopped back in his seat almost as soon as be said it, "God, I would have, though. Dogs are just so _friendly_ , y'know? What you see with dogs is what you get."

"Then why don't you have one?" Isaac asked, and was surprised to hear Scott sigh deeply in response.

"Mom says even if we start with just one, we'll just keep adding and adding to them."

"Well, it's probably true."

"Scratch 'probably'," Scott sighed again, letting his head sag to the side a little in mock despair, "I _know_ it's true. There was this Pitbull at the clinic yesterday and I was _so_ close to taking it home. Apart from the fact that it had an owner. That kinda hailed on my parade."

"I think it's rained, man. Not hailed." Stiles muttered, but his tone conveyed minor stress, and Scott immediately sat up a little in his seat - consciously or unconsciously - and began to help Stiles look for the right road sign.

"Okay, rained on my parade then." Scott suddenly threw his arm out across the windshield, pointing at a sign up ahead, "Yo, Stiles, that sign says left to the mall."

When the pair of them had planned this outing, they didn't really know what they wanted to do; there was a part in the back of each of their minds that whispered that they might not get along well enough to do something together for a whole day without any distraction, but they didn't want to go somewhere like the movies, where they wouldn't be able to talk much, even if they did get along great. So they decided on a mall of some kind - a quick calculation of directions and timings led to the choosing of this one - so that they could have a choice if they felt the need to switch activities.

"Now then, kids," Stiles said out the window as he threw them out in front of the mall instead of parking, his tone accumulating the British tinge again, and a mild elderly element as well, "I'll see you back here in a couple of hours. Say, two?"

Scott, being the saint that he was, barely even acknowledged Stiles' teasing tone, and instead responded with total enthusiasm and sincerity, "'Kay. See you at two."

"Have fun."

Isaac was almost 70% sure Stiles said something about staying safe and using condoms under his breath as he drove off, but, if he did, both he and Scott pretended not to hear him.

"So, where do you wanna go first?" Scott bounced on the balls of his feet, and moved towards a map on the wall beside the double doors, surprised to find the mall was quite empty. "There's a bunch of coffee places. Wanna go there?"

"Sure." Isaac couldn't suppress a grin as they entered, as he hadn't been in a mall for years. Yes, he worked a few weekends and holidays in a shop on the high street back home, but apart from that, he hadn't really gone to any shops - except to get food - since his brother had been alive. It was a tad surreal. "Holy crap, this place is huge."

"It really is." Scott's eyes seemed to have widened a little since Isaac last saw them, and he might even have looked a little scared, "Erm, do you think we could find a handheld map somewhere?"

They spent the next twenty minutes trying to find a coffee shop, and Isaac was so stressed by the time they finally found a decent one that wasn't ridiculously overpriced that he just threw himself down at a table without even ordering, and put his forehead on his folded arms on the table. Fortunately, Scott mimicked him in not ordering straight away, and instead sat down at the table opposite Isaac and blew air out of his mouth in a sign of defeat.

Slowly, Isaac lifted his head again and sighed, drawing himself up to his full sitting height, and looking Scott in the eye, tired almost before they began.

"God, I forgot how exhausting malls were. How many floors does this place seriously need?"

"Apparently, a lot more than we can handle." Scott grinned, sensing Isaac was uncomfortable about his lack of stamina, and so offered to order him a coffee, giving Isaac a minute to calm down and gather his strength.

Isaac gratefully accepted the offer, and promised to pay Scott back (which Scott knew he would) whilst he reined himself in and fully prepared himself for the day ahead. The majority of the people in the shop were teenagers like them, or mothers with children, leaving a bunch of kids to run around the coffee shop unwatched. Thankfully, they appeared to be of the age where there was no excessive shrieking, which Isaac praised every known God for as he pulled a map of the mall closer.

In itself, the map covered almost two sides of A4 in a little booklet, briefly describing the shop's name and purpose inside the tiny boxes on the paper. Quickly scanning down the side of the booklet, Isaac noted all the interesting looking shops, in particular the gaming ones and the bookstores.

Surprisingly, by the time Scott came back with the drinks, Isaac had circled quite a few places on the list with a crayon he'd found on the next table along with an abandoned colouring sheet.

"What time do you need to be back today?" Scott asked, curiously, as he took the first sip of his drink and recoiled at the high temperature, nursing his burnt tongue by sticking it out like a dog and then pouting, but still waiting for Isaac's answer.

"Sick of me so soon?" Isaac grinned, but he answered Scott's question anyway, "I should be back about four. Dad gets back around five, and I don't wanna risk not having done my jobs before he gets back."

"Wait, so he doesn't know you're here?" Scott leant forward on the table, surprised, probably shocked that such level of deceit could exist between child and parent. It was surprising, judging by how long he'd known Stiles.

"Nope. Not a clue." A shudder came over him, but he tried to suppress it - they were still only really just getting to know each other; there was no way Isaac was divulging _any_ of the father information until they had at least become good real-life friends, rather than just over the internet. "And he won't have to, if I get back in time. You told your mom?"

"Yup." Scott leant his chin on his hand and pulled the map around a bit so he could see what Isaac had circled, and nodded his approval, "I told her I was going to meet an Internet friend, and I was taking Stiles with me just in case, and I would text her when I knew you weren't a serial killer."

"And she just- _trusts_ you to do all that?"

Scott laughed, a little surprised, but he clearly got this kind of response a lot more than he let on.

"She works almost all the time anyway, so she's been trusting me to do this sort of thing since I got to middle school. We just manage, I guess. Oh! That reminds me, hang on-"

Moments passed by as Scott rummaged around in his pocket, eventually digging out his phone and holding it up triumphantly.

"She'll want proof you aren't really a 50-year-old man out to murder me." He explained, smiling slightly apologetically, but then faltered, "Is that alright?"

"What, like a selfie of us?" Isaac bit his lip, hating how he looked in photos but knowing that it would put Scott's mom's mind at rest, and it was probably the least he could do. "Er, I guess that's alright."

Together, they pulled some truly nasty faces, capturing them forever in the (unfortunately) high-megapixel phone camera, marking their first meeting once and for all. After picking the most disgusting and unappealing one he could find to send to his Mom, Scott waited until Isaac went back to colouring in the squares on the map where they wanted to go before he took another one, wanting to get one whilst Isaac was caught off guard; his hair was messier than before and his face more relaxed, an easy smile on his lips as he listened to Scott relay an incident that 10-year-old Scott and Stiles had gotten tangled up in. When Isaac realised what Scott had done (and demanded to see the photo just in case it was hideous), he protested against having a picture taken without his knowledge, but Scott insisted he needed a candid shot for his mom to actually understand what Isaac looked like (e.g. without his face all scrunched up and without roughly three and a half chins).

"Anyway," Scott shoved the phone back in his pocket after sending that photo off too, focusing on Isaac's immaculately neat colouring and planning the fastest route possible, "It's not like you could ever take a _truly_ terrible photo."

"I don't know, the quadruple chin I was rocking back there seemed pretty terrible to me." Isaac raised his eyebrows, ignoring what seemed to be a compliment, but tried to move past it, and instead used a different blue crayon to draw their route onto the map, "Look, if we start here-"

When two 'o' clock rolled around, they hadn't quite made it to all the interesting looking places (they'd walked almost straight back out of the bookstore when Isaac realised how uninterested Scott was in reading - a bookstore a was hard place to hang around in if you were with someone who wasn't as keen) but all in all, they were quite pleased with themselves; they'd only had a couple of awkward silences, and, in the grand scheme of things, that was pretty awesome for a first meet-up.

As they clambered back into the car, Isaac realised how truly exhausted he was, and he was glad that he had bought quite little things of substance: he and Scott had stopped for lunch (which Isaac had paid for) around one, but apart from that, they mostly just picked things up and messed about with them, before putting them back and leaving, which wasn't something Isaac was particularly used to doing, but something he realised he really quite enjoyed.

"So, kids," Stiles began, as they clambered into the car, the sarcasm creeping its way in again, "Did ya have fun?"

Once again, Scott ignored the sarcastic undertone (Isaac began to think that this might be a regular occurrence), and simply responded with an enthusiastic rundown of their day, leaving Isaac to reflect quietly in the back of the car, checking train times on his phone, and seeing one that left in 20 minutes that would be perfect, allowing him to get back home by about five past four.

"So, Isaac," Stiles called from the front, his tone surprisingly friendly, pulling the teenager out of his semi-trance, "One question, man - what's up with the scarf? It's, like, 65 degrees out."

"I-" Suddenly, Isaac felt a strong aversion to lying in his gut, whispering for him to just _tell them_ , but he pushed it aside almost as quickly as it appeared, "I get cold. A lot."

"It was kinda chilly earlier." Scott added, "Leave him alone, Stiles."

"Well, if it's just the cold, then I guess I'll drop it." Stiles responded, a little snottily, to Scott, although Isaac was pretty sure he didn't mean it, "Anyways, I had my money on a hickey cover-up."

"Same as El-uh, the woman on the train." Isaac caught himself, and turned back to staring out the window, "Shewas coming up with all sorts of theories to try and explain the scarf."

"Is that why you got pissed at her?" Scott twisted around in his seat just as they pulled into the station parking lot, "Because she wouldn't leave you alone about it?"

"No, it was more how she responded to me telling her stuff about myself that... altered her theories." The teenager checked the time on his phone and saw he had just under 15 minutes to go in, get his ticket, and find the train. "I better get going, I haven't got much time."

When Isaac looked up again a moment later, Scott was pouting - yes, actually pouting - and looked genuinely sad to see Isaac go.

"Text me, though, yeah?"

His large, pleading eyes were almost unbelievable, and Isaac wondered if there was anything that he wouldn't do for Scott. If there was, it wouldn't be for long, if he had to look Scott in the eye and tell him so; it would be like kicking a puppy.

"Of course."

Instantly, a smile broke through the plea on Scott's features, and then he was turning back around in his seat, leaning against the door of the jeep as he tried to push it open, wiggling to handle a little until it clicked. He appeared to do all this without really noticing; he'd clearly been driving in this car for a long time, and knew all the tricks and niggles in it, perhaps almost as well as Stiles.

"I'll walk you to the entrance."

After that, Isaac was almost sure he heard Stiles snort a little and sink in his seat, but he too was jumping out of the car, allowing the hard smack of pavement on his feet to remind him of what he'd get if he didn't get on that train in 15 minutes; he could _not_ afford to be late, especially since this was the first time he'd ever really done something like this. Already, he was shaking at the thought of going home, terrified of the idea that his dad might have taken time off work or gotten home a little early. To stop it becoming obvious, he pushed his hands down into his pockets, gripping his phone tightly in his hand.

Together, Scott and Isaac walked across the parking lot and down the path that lead to the station, comfortable silence settling over them. Before they got through the double doors that lead to the bustle of trains, however, Scott reached out his arm to motion for Isaac to stop, and gently pulled him off to the side of the entrance, talking in a quiet, slightly rushed, voice.

"Look, I'm sorry if Stiles pushed you about the scarf thing. I think we all knew it wasn't for the cold, and I _knew_ he was gonna say something stupid back, but I just- I'm sorry. Both as me for not telling him to shut up quick enough, and on his behalf, for being a moron."

"I-" Isaac blinked, trying to comprehend what Scott just said, but the other teen just shook his head, effectively cutting off Isaac's response.

"You don't have to explain. Really. I just wanted to apologise. I don't want _anything_ to stop us being friends, on the internet _and_ in real life."

"Scott-" Isaac swallowed, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the sincerity of Scott's apology, "It's- really, it's fine. I wasn't that bothered."

"Still." Scott insisted, "You were bothered to some degree, and that's important to me."

Instinct and self-preservation told Isaac to just accept the apology, and go and get on the train, but a small part of him rose up, whispering _tell him_. This time, Isaac didn't push it away.

"I- I swear I'm not hiding any hickeys - it's just covering up a bruise." He said, honestly, and decided to go with the story he told Ellie; it was awkward enough that no-one really wanted to ask questions, and that was perfect. It also covered up a lot of questions that Scott might have later. "My, er, neighbourhood's a bit rough."

Brown eyes filled with concern, and Scott shuffled a little closer, his eyebrows knitted together.

"Does it hurt?" He hesitated, "Can I- have a look?"

Whatever it was about Scott's puppy eyes, Isaac hated it. When the big brown orbs stared up at him in such an innocent and hopeful manner, they were irresistible, and that could potentially be extremely problematic.

"Um, okay."

Isaac slowly unwound the scarf from his neck, quickly flicking his eyes left and right to see that no-one was watching them, and tilted his head at the angle that demonstrated it best: the angle at which he fell.

Neither of them could deny the sharp intake of breath Scott took when he saw the extent of the bruise, or the slight shake in his hands as he reached up to touch it. Since it was at an awkward angle, the combination of Scott's smooth fingers and the sensation they were creating caused Isaac to jump slightly, and the other teen instantly retracted his hands.

"Sorry- I didn't mean-" Scott said, quickly, clearly flustered, but Isaac shook his head to stop him protesting, as he wrapped his scarf back around his neck.

"It's alright," He smiled, a little nervously, unsure what to do now that part of his secret was out in the open, although Scott probably didn't realise how big this actually was, "I just... wasn't expecting it."

"Do you mind me asking how it happened?" Scott also sounded a little nervous, but probably for a different reason. He probably never thought of Isaac coming from a shady background before (because he didn't), and might only have been realising at that moment that Isaac might be similar in character to those who hurt him, "Like, what made that mark? It's such a strange shape."

"I was pushed down some steps. Landed on my neck."

Scott flinched back a little in recognition of the amount of pain he must have gone through, but didn't say much else, and instead bit his lip. Unbeknownst to Isaac, Scott had already started putting the puzzle pieces together, and he was barely just able to hide his shock and pain before asking his next question.

"Does it happen a lot?"

"Not really. They switch targets when they want to mix things up, so it changes." Isaac checked his phone again, looking at the time a little pointedly, and tried to look apologetic, "My train leaves in a few minutes, I'd better go."

"Oh, I- alright." Scott smiled, hiding his nerves a little better than he did before, but he still looked sad, "Text me that you get on okay, yeah?"

"Sure." Isaac turned to go, waving as he did so, and then pulled up the train times on his phone and tried to find the correct platform, speeding up to a power-walk as he dodged a mass of people coming out of the station.

Despite his urge to, he didn't look back.

It was only when Isaac was safely seated on the train - by himself, this time, and as far away as possible from any children - that he allowed himself to think about Scott, and the way he looked so concerned after Isaac's wellbeing; it almost physically hurt to know that someone cared about him that way, so much so that Isaac wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it.

No-one had cared about him so much since his brother had died, coming up to seven years ago. As soon as Camden hit 18 - and decided that he didn't want to swim anymore - he wanted to join the army, and do something right for his country. Of course, their father had gone ballistic at the thought initially, but there wasn't much he could do about it. After a while, he even warmed to the idea; he might actually have a son who could honestly say they had done their duty for their country - a son he could be proud of.

As quick as he could, Isaac sent a text to Scott to confirm that he got on the train, before pushing the phone deep into his pocket, where he could ignore the buzzes and beeps.

It wasn't fair to Scott - and he knew that - but it had been a very long day, and he just needed some quiet time.

\--

Walking up to the house was definitely the worst part, Isaac decided, as he stood at the bottom of the path, but changed his mind when he got to the door, switching to listening out for his dad being the worst part, but then swapped again when he entered the house.

Every part of this was terrifying.

Straining his ears for any sound of movement, Isaac turned his key in the lock, holding his breath and trying to stop his hands from shaking. Miraculously, the teenager didn't make all that much noise coming in through the front door, but he still held onto the burning oxygen in his lungs, positive he heard a noise from the main room, but too terrified to go and check.

Hovering in the doorway instead, he let the pounding in his ears rise to a rushing and thumping, blocking out all other sounds.

_please don't be home please please don't be home_

Slowly, silently, Isaac moved into the lounge, peering over the sofa and releasing a huge breath when he saw his father wasn't on it. Still, he checked over the rest of the house for good measure, and found nothing: his father wasn't home.

Isaac had made it.

The relief that spread through him was almost addictive, and he felt a surge in his gut that pushed his spirits higher than he thought they could go; he was almost giddy.

Guilt suddenly snuck up behind him when Isaac remembered all of Scott's unanswered texts; they'd been texting almost constantly for a few months, and it probably looked really rude that he'd just stopped as soon as they met up. Almost scrambling in his attempt to get the phone, Isaac quickly scrolled through Scott's recent responses to the train text, and decided to send one back to apologise for his silence.

 **isaac** **16:07**

**sorry i stopped texting -**

**train was busy. got home**

**safe and sound - dad**

**wasn't back :) hooray!!**

Isaac wasn't sure if Scott read into the text how Isaac meant him to, but he hoped he did; _my dad isn't home. We did it. We can do this again._  

It made Isaac even giddier than he previously was.

Until the front door slammed a few moments later, and heavy boots trudged into the hallway.

His dad was home, and he was _early_.

"If those dishes are still in the sink, I'm going to kill you." His father called through, fairly neutrally, when he saw Isaac's shoes by the door, and Isaac's fearful glance at the sink gave him at least the tiniest bit of relief - he'd done them this morning before he left.

Instead, Isaac just tried to look natural as he stood at the table, deciding last minute to get a glass of water for something to do, before his Dad walked into the room.

"Get me a beer if you're up, will you?" Barely even acknowledging that the sink was empty, his father went straight into the lounge and threw himself on the lumpy couch, flicking the tv on and switching his brain off immediately. "Good day at the shop?"

Isaac carefully filled his glass of water, and pulled the cold beer from the fridge as he replied;

"Yeah, not bad. Sold stuff, which is always good." His heart was in the base of his throat, but he'd been lying to his father for years - why would it be any different today? "Good day at work?"

"No, it was shit. Why do you think I want the beer?"

It was days like these when Isaac could almost imagine what it would have been like if the abuse hadn't started. Maybe they'd have sat and watched television together, talked about customers at work, taken the piss out of the game show contestants.

Today, Isaac's father was too tired to remember to resent Isaac's entire existence.

After awkwardly handing him the beer, Isaac fumbled out an excuse and went upstairs, the euphoria of having beaten the system almost overwhelming him. He’d done all his jobs from downstairs, and his dad was about to fall asleep on the sofa after copious amounts of beer; this could happen again. If he and Scott picked the right day, they could do this again and again – possibly throughout all of summer. As much as Isaac loved his job, he definitely needed some time off here and there, but his dad didn’t have to know that.

Maybe – near the end of summer, if they decided it could work – they could even stay over somewhere. Isaac could tell his dad that he was at a work party, and they were going to let him stay over so that he could have a really good time without stressing... Was it too soon to be thinking about that? Isaac’s imagination didn’t care, as he pictured staying out until dark with Scott’s soft brown eyes, his skin soft to the touch and his smile illuminating.

 

**isaac 16:15  
i loved meeting you today xxx**

**scott 16:16  
** **yay!! same, when are you next free? ;) xxx**

 **16:17**  
**literally, whenever you want me.**  
**16:17**  
**xxx**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight. university has started, and im really hoping that i can keep this going, but please know that this won't be regular or frequent! love u all, and lets get this bitch to 100 kudos amirite


End file.
